The Governess
by the artful scribbler
Summary: Plain, obscure muggleborn orphan Hermione Granger leaves her sheltered home to become Governess for a wealthy wizarding family, and finds herself in a house full of long memories and dark secrets, drawn to its enigmatic Master as a moth to a flame. Historical romance AU Lumione.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: Hello again, lovely Lumione readers!**_ _This story is going to be an **AU Lumione historical romance** , set around the 1850s. It will have mature themes, however I'm not intending to go tooooo dark with this (well, maybe just a little!) I'm giving it an M rating just to be on the safe side. __It is essentially a crossover fic, however there isn't one single book with which I've crossed the HP world, more a collection of my favourite historic-romance novels including Jane Eyre, Rebecca, Mistress of Mellyn, The Shivering Sands, and a smattering of other stories about resourceful young ladies thrown by fate into the path of magnetic older men with decidedly shady pasts. If that sounds like something you wouldn't like, then please read no further._

 _A couple of **AU notes:** I have decided to take Malfoy Manor out of Wiltshire and transplant it onto the Cornish coast, to a fictional seaside village called 'Tredraconis'. I just really wanted to have a stormy coastal backdrop to suit the tone of the story. The characters will be a mix of canonical and O.C, and I may very well play around with ages and relationships etc. Hermione is a little ooc to start with, however it is my intention to have her grow more into 'herself' as the story progresses. I will continue to add AU notes at the beginning of the chapter they are relevant to._

 _Okay, enough prattling. I hope you enjoy the first chapter! Let me know how you feel about it, I'd love to hear your thoughts!_

 _Xox artful_

* * *

The Governess

...

The first time I ever laid eyes on Lord Malfoy, a strange feeling crossed over me, a kind of stirring in my soul which caused me to shiver, as if (as Aunt Agna would have said) "a grey griffin had flown over the place of my grave."

At the time I supposed that feeling to be simply dislike—for, although he appeared to be a very handsome man, his expression was as haughty and disdainful as his manner was cold and supercilious.

Now, so many years later, I look back on that moment and wonder if it was something far deeper and more profound, a kind of premonition, perhaps, of the fateful path down which we were both to travel.

But at that time, I was not a fanciful person, given to such romantic notions as fate and destiny. My Aunt—or rather, the elderly witch who had taken me out of the Orphanage For Muggleborn Children—had made quite certain of that.

"You are a muggleborn witch and a plain one at that," she often told me, in her forthright manner. "The best you can hope for is a quiet life of honest service. You're not cut out for marriage, my dear, but that needn't concern you...after all, it never concerned me."

"Yes, Aunt," I would murmur quietly, turning away so she wouldn't see the hurt in my eyes.

I was aware her comments were not cruelly meant—she didn't intend to wound me, but to prepare me. Life had not been overly kind to her, and though she never admitted it to me, I believed she must have had her heart broken by a wizard in her youth. Bitterness and loneliness had left her mistrustful of the world outside her own little cottage, and she brought me up in the long shadow of her manifold fears.

...If only she had known how often I stood before the cracked old mirror standing among the clutter in the attic, secret tears sliding down my cheeks as I despairingly surveyed my insignificant figure, my unruly tangle of brown curls, the unfeminine angles of my face...maybe she would have taken a little pity on me. Or perhaps, more likely, she would have scolded me for dwelling on my outward deficiencies instead of improving my inward qualities.—And she would have been quite right in doing so. In many ways it would have been crueller to fill my head with unrealistic hopes and dreams. Because a plain, provincial muggleborn witch would only end up paying for such dreams with bitter pangs of disappointment.

And so she taught me only what she felt necessary to maintain this modest destiny, the basic housekeeping spells, the embroidery and mending charms which would earn my keep, and potion-brewing techniques used for medicinal purposes only.

But for all her sensible advice to keep my expectations in check, she could not subdue my spirit completely. There was a rebellious streak in me, which whispered to me at night-time...telling me that I was meant for better things than to gradually turn into a replica of my spinster 'Aunt'; that there was surely more to life than performing endless, fiddly stitching charms on the piles of torn dresses and worn clothes which appeared in our front parlour each morning...

Just how I was going to escape that depressing future was something of a mystery.

By the age of eighteen my life seemed firmly entrenched in the course it would undeviatingly follow to the end of my days. Little, obscure, muggleborn orphan, Hermione Jean Granger, with her shabby twice-turned robes and second-hand wand, brought up by her adoptive Aunt to be, above anything else, _useful_. A head crammed with useful spells. A face and figure as undecorative as it was possible to be, without being positively ugly.

How could I be anything but useful? I had no access to the books and schools which "legitimate" mages had. I, as a muggleborn, and a female one at that, was considered by the community as only a little better than a house-elf. The more kindly witches of the magical gentry pitied "my sort" and raised subscriptions and held charitable events to aid the poorest of us. Less wealthy but altruistic minded people like my Aunt took a more hands-on approach, for which I knew I ought to be undyingly grateful.—And I was grateful, though I heartily wished she had not taken her duty of "bringing them up to understand their place" quite so literally.

In darker moments, I wondered why I had been born at all. What could I do that couldn't be fulfilled, better and more willingly, by one of those creature-servants which the wealthy wizards of the land employed in their service?

What good was being a witch, when your world was so decidedly void of all _magic?_

* * *

…

When the long-wished-for change did come, it was swift and frightening, like a turning current suddenly bearing me away out into choppy, deep waters.

My Aunt Agna contracted a fatal strain of Dragon Pox and died within a few hours of the symptoms manifesting.

For the second time in my life I was left utterly alone in the world. My Aunt's extreme reclusiveness meant that I knew no-one in our little magical enclave of Turningstone better than to say, "Good Day." The only shop I ever frequented was the local haberdashery, where my Aunt would send me to buy on account sundry supplies, with strict instruction to speak with no-one but the haberdasher and his wife, neither of whom were figures to inspire friendly relations.

I had no confidants, no friends, no family, and no place in society. All I had to my name was a pitifully small hoard of hard-earned knuts and sickles, and a single Galleon which my Aunt bequeathed me on her deathbed, along with a character reference and a letter she had written at some earlier date.

The letter was, typically of her, brusque but kind, explaining that her small estate was entailed to a distant cousin, but that she doubted not he would allow me to continue living there until I had found myself a satisfactory situation.

" _...I leave you,_ " her letter concluded, " _well satisfied I have done my duty to society by you. You are well versed in those crafts which will always earn you a keep, and I believe I have instilled in your heart a strong sense of self-respectability and practicality. I have been well rewarded for my efforts in having secured to me, in my twilight years, a devoted companion and a grateful beneficiary, who has been like the daughter I was never blessed with._

 _Look no higher than your own good head, and you will be happy._

 _Agna Gerdhart"_

Tears blinded my eyes as I read and re-read those words she had never deigned to speak during her lifetime. "Like the daughter I was never blessed with..." I had never dared aspire to consider her as a mother, although she was the closest I had to one.

As for her final, parting token of advice, I accepted it as a compliment to my common sense, and ignored the aspersions to my lowly birth. I might well "look no higher than my own good head", but who was to say I could not climb a mountain to take my view?

* * *

…

On the same day my Aunt Agna was buried, I received an owl from the usurping cousin. I had, his note coldly informed me, two weeks in which to find myself a new place, before I would be evicted out onto the cold, cobbled streets of Turningstone. I was not surprised by this mean-spiritedness. I imagined he saw me as nothing more than a servant whose duties were no longer required.

I knew that my Galleon might purchase me about three month's board and food at the local inn, but after that? The future loomed dark and dangerous, if I did not secure employment as soon as I could.

The very next morning I walked down to the Turningstone high street, clutching my purse with its few copper and silver coins, and my single, precious Galleon. Arriving at the village Postal-Office, I purchased a copy of 'The Daily Prophetical', as well as the local weekly newspaper, 'The Turningstone Times'.

Alas, there were far more advertisements asking for work than offering it, and I couldn't see a single place for a seamstress in any of the columns entitled _'Situations Vacant'_.

Each morning I bought and scoured through the 'Prophetical', becoming steadily more terrified that soon I was going to become one of the poverty-stricken unfortunates who the gentrified witches raised their funds to help.

Every vacant position required proof of prior experience or qualifications, or a thorough knowledge of specialized spell-work I had never even heard of. Many advertisements stated, _"Wizards Need Only Apply"_ , whilst those particularizing witches almost always stipulated, _"A School Education Essential"_ or, _"Knowledge of All The Feminine Crafts & Modern Languages Desired"_.

The few jobs _"Suited To Muggle-borns or The Illiterate"_ , were for badly-paid, dangerous work, such as industrial cleaning and potion-testing. There was also a handful of suspiciously worded advertisements detailing, _"Well-Paid Opportunities In London For Young & Attractive Witches, Female Squibs & Muggleborns"_—which I skipped over with a blush, recalling my Aunt's voice, uncharacteristically hushed, speaking about "fallen witches" who had, out of desperation or moral corruption, spurned respectable poverty for a more luxurious but ignominious and degrading existence, about which she was never specific.

As my anxiety grew, so did my resentment and anger at my Aunt's lack of foresight in limiting my education so severely. How could I continue as a seamstress when I had not a roof under which to work? How could I pay for my own roof, if I had no money? I felt trapped and incapacitated by my own ignorance, the walls of impending destitution closing in on me from every side.

Seven days after that warning owl, I went again to the Postal-Office with the intention of placing my own advertisement in the newspaper, although it was not cheap to do so. I had already written out the card in careful, plain script. _"A muggle-born witch, raised respectably, adept in all household crafts & much experienced in seamstress spells, desires employment for modest remuneration. Excellent character reference available. Further enquiries to H J Granger, care of the Turningstone Postal-Office."_

I approached the counter, ready to hand over my card and pay for the advertisement (the Postal-Office being an agent for such), but hesitated when I noticed a smartly dressed middle-aged gentlewitch arriving a few seconds after me. In a reflexive acquiescence to her superiority, I moved aside with a curtsey, murmuring, "Please ma'am, go ahead of me."

The witch, a handsome, buxom woman with a glossy dark chignon, acknowledged my polite obeisance with a gracious nod, and stepped up to the counter.

"I should like to place an advertisement in tomorrow's Prophetical," she addressed the post-wizard, in a tone suggestive of someone well used to giving orders.

The portly fellow bowed obsequiously, and murmured, "I regret to inform madam that there is a queue. The earliest it will appear is tomorrow-fortnight."

"As it is an urgent matter," the witch smoothly replied, "I am willing to double the fee."

The post-wizard's eyes gleamed ruefully. "If it were in my power, nothing would prevent me from granting madam's request. Unfortunately, it is entirely out of my hands. ...But perhaps madam would consider placing an advertisement in the Turningstone Times in the meantime? The weekly issue is published tomorrow."

With a disapproving sigh, the witch nodded. "Very well. I will advertise in both. Take down the following."

Picking up his quill, the wizard took a piece of card and began to write down as she dictated.

"Urgently required, a nursery-witch or governess to take sole care of a young child. Knowledge of healing, defensive and care-related magic preferred. Live-in situation, board inclusive, salary based on experience. Enquiries to Madam Marsh of Malfoy Manor, Tredraconis, Cornwall."

A gasp escaped my lips. _Tredraconis, Malfoy Manor_ —these names were almost mythical to me, I had heard them reverenced by my Aunt, I had read about them in the various geographic and architectural journals she subscribed to, and the occasional newspaper article she allowed me to look at. Little though I knew of the world, even _I_ had heard of the Malfoys, the pre-eminent magical family in all of Cornwall.

Immediately my heart began to hammer wildly in my chest. I knew I had but seconds to summon the courage to speak up, but the very imperativeness of my doing so was causing my mouth to clam shut.

In a silent agony, I watched the gentlewitch pay for her advertisement and deposit the change in a green velvet coin-purse, then turn and walk to the door, which swung obligingly open on her approach. And then I watched her disappear out into the street.

Before I knew what I was doing I found myself dashing after her, crying aloud, "Please, ma'am! Please wait one moment!"

The lady stopped and turned surprised eyes on me, evidently wondering if she had forgotten something, and then, with a slight frown, she reached again for her purse, supposing I wanted to beg a coin of her.

With a mortified blush I plead her to put it away.

"No—thank you, I don't need money—I wish only to speak to you for a moment. If you would only oblige me by reading this." I passed her my own hand-written advertisement, which she hesitantly received, then inspected with a returning expression of surprise.

She looked me quickly up and down, taking in at a sharp glance my neat but severely-plain mourning clothes, and, no doubt my unprepossessing personal appearance. I fumbled in my skirt pocket and quickly handed her the character reference my Aunt had provided me.

I was relieved to see the witch's expression relax as she perused the document, a faint smile touching her lips.

"I knew Agnastacia as a young woman," she said, handing back the reference, "and lately learned of her sad demise. So...you are the muggleborn child she took in to foster, these twenty years since?"

"I am," I replied, an audible tremble in my voice, partly because I had never heard my Aunt called by that name before, and partly because I was shaken by the knowledge that I was...known. That I had been spoken of and discussed by people—elegant people, of the magical gentry, from a glittering world so utterly removed from my own humble obscurity.

"And so you happen to be seeking just such a situation as the one I am so anxious to fill! A happy coincidence, indeed!" She regarded me thoughtfully. "You have experience in healing and seamstressing, but what experience do you have with the care of young children?"

"None, ma'am," I answered truthfully, then, with a gulp of determination I added, "but I doubt not my capability to do so."

"Hmm!" was her brief response, but I sensed that my boldness had not harmed me in her opinion.

"I learn quickly," I pressed on, "and I'm not afraid of hard work."

"Indeed? Those are good qualities in a servant. ...What terms are you hoping to secure?"

"Any, ma'am, so long as I may have a bed to sleep in at night."

"I gather by that, that your current situation is precarious?"

I hated to seem desperate, but I could not quell the shudder in my voice as I admitted, "In one week I will have nowhere to call home." Then, with a burst of sudden emotion, I added, "If you'll only let me prove it, I will not let you down!"

She pursed her lips, as if considering something. Then she smiled. "Well, that will remain to be seen. Shake hands, Miss...Granger, isn't it?" she said, extending her gloved hand out to me. "For you have just entered into the service of Lord Malfoy."

Stammering out my thanks, I took her hand and curtseyed, almost unable to believe this sudden, lucky turn of events.

"How many days do you need to prepare to come to Tredraconis, Miss Granger? I should like you as soon as possible."

"I can start tomorrow, if it please your Ladyship," I said, rather too eagerly.

She gave a merry little laugh. "You are a quaint girl!" she declared, though quite without malice. "I am not the Lady of the Manor—that title belongs to one long departed, I'm afraid. I am only the housekeeper. You may address me as 'Mrs Marsh', or 'ma'am', if you prefer."

"Y-yes, Mrs Marsh," I stammered, confused at my blunder. "I can come tomorrow, if it please you, ma'am."

"It would please me very much," she replied, "but take some time to prepare. You may keep your mourning colours, but the Master likes his staff smartly dressed. Have you a silk evening gown? Ah, I see by your expression you do not. Have you money to purchase one? I can lend you what you require and take it from your first quarter's pay."

"No—no; I can afford one," I said, thinking of my precious golden Galleon, "er—that is, I can afford to buy the silk, and make it up myself."

She nodded curtly. "See that you use an elegant pattern, Miss Granger. You may be required to accompany the child in formal situations, and it would not do to look...out of place."

I nodded, blushing again at my all-too-obvious deficiencies.

Mrs Marsh pulled out a leather pocket book and produced from it a small calling-card. "Here is the address," she said. "You may send your luggage ahead, and Apparate outside the gate, which is open during daylight hours. Ask the porter to show you the servant's entrance. I shall expect you in a few days."

"Thank you," I murmured, unable to bring myself to admit that I did not know how to Apparate, my Aunt deeming it unladylike to travel 'in such violent fits and starts'.

We both curtseyed. "Good day, Miss Granger. I am glad of our paths accidentally crossing, however unfortunate the circumstances which occasioned it. You have spared me much time and inconvenience I could ill afford."

"Good day, Mrs Marsh," I replied simply, unable to express my gratitude whilst hiding my great relief, afraid I might actually burst into tears.

Watching the gentlewitch gracefully cross the street and disappear into the milliner's, my body sagged against the Postal-Office wall, trembling violently, almost overwhelmed by so many tumultuous emotions. Finally, finally I would get my chance to live outside of the tiny box I had been shut in for my whole life. Finally, I would be able to test myself in a new line of work that didn't involve the relentless tedium of mending and making clothes...

This thought brought me back to my own clothing situation. Gathering my composure, I made my way to the haberdasher's, where I received from his wife a decidedly frosty reception. "Miss Granger, I suppose you are come to balance your Aunt's account?"

I stared at her, not quite understanding what she meant. "No, indeed...I have come to purchase some cloth," I said.

The woman's lips thinned. "I'm afraid you cannot buy anything until the account has been settled," she curtly replied.

"But...I...I had not thought it incumbent on me...surely you will receive reimbursement from her lawyers?"

"I should as soon trust a band of swindlers," she retorted. "Nay, the account must be settled now, in full."

Crestfallen, I reached for my purse. "How much is outstanding?" I asked her, hoping it might only be a few knuts.

Taking out a large ledger-book, the witch used her wand to flick through and find the page. "Nine sickles and four," she announced, turning the book around for me to see.

With a regretful sigh, I sadly handed over the only Galleon I had ever beheld—let alone held—in my life, receiving in change seven sickles and 25 knuts.

I watched the witch scratch a large red mark through the ledger, and snap it shut with a puff of dust. "Now," she said, in a more civil tone. "How may I help you?"

I selected a length of quality black silk, and one of dark-grey bombazine, as well as some serviceable pieces of poplin in unobtrusive colours, for every day work. To these I added a quantity of brown merino with which to make a new robe. It was expensive, but I could not endure the notion of turning up at the gates of the famously splendid Malfoy Manor in my twice-turned, shabby hand-me-down.

As she cut and folded the required lengths, the haberdasher's wife, no longer able to contain her curiosity, asked me if I had gained a new position somewhere?

"Yes," I replied, with the first swell of pride I could ever recall experiencing. "I am going to be governess to a child at Malfoy Manor, in Tredraconis."

"You don't say!" exclaimed the witch, clearly surprised and impressed by this piece of news. Then snidely she added, "That is a fortunate turn of events, for the likes of one such as _you_." I understood perfectly her insinuations, and flushed with mortified anger.

"Indeed, I consider myself fortunate," I replied quietly, not wishing to rise to her ungenerous sting.

For some minutes she continued with her cutting, then with a sly glance at me, she said, "They say the young Master Malfoy is a wild creature with rowdy friends and a great taste for London dissipations."

"I know nothing of it," I said, divided between longing to hear more and not wanting to engage in lowly gossip.

"Aye, and his father, Lord Lucius, is a fierce and vindictive man; a powerful wizard with extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts..." her voice lowered to a conspiratorial murmur. "They say his wife was killed by his cruel treatment, though of course it was all covered up and blamed on her frailty."

Becoming increasingly annoyed by her apparent desire to cause me discomfiture, I deigned not to reply, merely waiting for her to finish her work, then handing over the required payment.

Gathering the three paper-wrapped parcels under my arm, I curtseyed with a brief, "Good day."

"Good day, miss," replied the witch, adding, "I hope for you own sake that you will heed my warning and seek immediately for a new situation."

"Thank you," I said coldly, "but I do not intend to let idle slander frighten me out of a respectable position."

I had the satisfaction of seeing a flush spread over the rude witch's face before I turned my back on her and left the haberdashery for (I hoped) the very last time. Never before had I dared to so speak so saucily to anyone in my life, and the sensation it occasioned was both novel and rather pleasant.

When I arrived back at the house, I spread out the lengths of soft fabric upon the table, guiltily thinking that Aunt Agna would never have approved of such extravagance. And I very much feared that my becoming a governess for a wealthy wizarding family would certainly fall under her definition of 'looking higher than my own good head.'

That night I lay awake for many hours, unable to calm the wild beating of my heart as I tried to picture Malfoy Manor and the coastal countryside of Tredraconis (for I had never seen the sea). I wondered if my little charge were a boy or girl, and exactly to whom in the household they belonged...the wild and rowdy son, perhaps?

And naturally my thoughts turned time and again to the man who was to become my master, this "Lord Lucius". I wondered if there were really any truth in the dreadful gossip, that he dabbled with Dark magic, that he had killed his wife with cruelty...a vision arose in my head, of a man twisted-faced and hunch-backed, whispering evil incantations as he stirred a cauldron roiling with some potent, forbidden concoction...

I shivered and drew my blankets more tightly around me. Although I hated to credit such vile rumours, I couldn't help but feel a little nervous of how such a man might treat his paid subordinates...would he be a fair employer, or an exacting autocrat?

 _Most likely,_ I told myself, _he won't even notice the presence of a lowly and obscure muggleborn governess like yourself._

I was rather comforted by this thought, and sleep came to me at last.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Wow! Thanks for the follows, faves and reviews, they're really encouraging for a first chapter! I'm just beyond happy that I'm not the only one who loves gothic-romance, ships Lumione, and wants to smoosh them together. I mean, it makes sense, right?! :D_

 _Okay, now for a couple of **AU notes**. For the purpose of this story, I have implemented the following changes:_

 _ **Floo:** the Floo network is divided into two channels, one "private" and one "public." Only the houses of wealthy families and reputable establishments are connected through the private system. Everyone else must pay a small fee to use the public Floo, accessed in communal places such as an inn or tearoom. Small towns might only have one or two public Floos, whilst bigger cities have them dotted throughout the boroughs.  
_ _ **Brooms:** although some witches use broomsticks, it is considered a rather unfeminine and dangerous practice. Those who do tend to ride side-saddle and use a specially charmed variety of "Ladies Broom" that limits speed and height._

 _There's bound to be other AU things which will crop up, but I'll address them before each relevant chapter._  
 _Hope you enjoy this next instalment and PLEASE let me know your thoughts!_

* * *

...

The next morning I received another letter, this one delivered by a majestic Eagle Owl bearing a scroll stamped with a black seal and tied with green velvet ribbon.

How very different the warm fluttering sensation in my breast upon unravelling it, than the icy despair occasioned by the curt missive from my Aunt's cousin! With what gladness and excitement did I peruse the handsomely-drawn Indenture Retainer, written in exquisite calligraphy upon costly vellum! And with what fascination did I trace my trembling fingers over the splendid Malfoy coat-of-arms letterhead: a silver 'M' emblazoned across a quarterly field of black and green, supported by strange winged creatures—serpents, perhaps, or maybe dragons. Winding across the shield's base was a silver ribbon bearing the motto, _'Sanctimonia Vincet Semper',_ which my smattering of rudimentary Latin translated to something like,"the righteous always win."

The document was written duplicately, side by side, with the terms of service I was to be offered and a place for my signature below each part. Mrs Marsh had already undersigned both pieces, next to which was written, _"On behalf of Lord Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Tredraconis."_

The terms were, to my mind, quite reasonable—generous, even; considering my inexperience and blood status. Fifteen sickles per quarter annum, food and board included, with one day off each week. Duties to include the care of a child or children, including preparatory-level schooling and disciplining where required. Some light housework, such as mending torn clothes and fixing broken items.

I was to undergo a trial period of six weeks, and if all was to be found satisfactory to both parties, the contract would becoming mutually binding for the remaining year's duration.

My pulse flurried within me as I took up my quill and neatly signed my name twice, beneath each identical document, observing how careful and restrained my signature looked beside the dashing confident marks made by Mrs Marsh.

No sooner had the ink dried than immediately a zig-zagging line appeared down the middle, and the vellum split and detached, one half refurling, and slipping back into the noose of velvet ribbon, which the owl silently swooped down from its perch on the windowsill to bear away.

The remaining half of the document was, I supposed, mine to keep.

I gazed at it for some time, unable to quite shake the notion that I must be in some kind of dream from which I would surely awake any moment. Only the chiming of the mantle clock brought me out of my dazed state, reminding me that I still had much to do before this dream could become reality.

Folding the paper carefully up, I put it in my pocket book for safe keeping, and set to work on making my new clothes.

It took me just two days to complete four dresses and a robe. Never before had my wand flown with such dexterity and efficiency, nor my tongue incanted the complicated threading and stitching spells with such enthusiasm, and even enjoyment.

Knowing that my future no longer depended on a life-sentence of laborious seamstressing, I felt something of a thrill as I put together the garments that were to represent my escape from that fate.

I made up the poplin dresses to a plain pattern with wide pagoda sleeves that could be rolled up to suit the more physical demands of the nursery room. Bearing in mind Mrs Marsh's comment that "the Master likes his staff smartly dressed," I added some black piping and trim, and a black lace collar to each, which I could change to white once a suitable period of mourning had passed.

The dark-grey bombazine, which was to be my Sunday dress, I created to a more fitted and embellished design, with ruffle details around the cuffs and high neckline, and vertical ruching on the bodice.

The most difficult garment was the black silk evening gown—not because I couldn't make finery, but because I simply couldn't imagine _myself_ in anything fine. I wasted several hours searching through my Aunt's huge catalogue of patterns to find something suitably "elegant", that would not make me feel as if were borrowing a costume to play a round of the drawing-room game _Charades_.

Eventually I decided upon a prettily-shaped dress with a wide neckline, a dropped, pointed waist, and a tiered bell skirt. An addition of a Bertha-collar of black lace (which took four painstaking hours to create) provided a demure cover for the low neckline, whilst giving the illusion of my having a little more feminine shapeliness to my sparely-padded frame.

Inspecting the finished effect in the mirror of my Aunt's bedroom, I was pleasantly surprised. I did not look quite like... _me_. The girl in the reflection was no prettier, taller or more substantial, but neither was she the shabby, mousy little creature that haunted the upstairs attic. My eyes seemed somehow changed, more expressive and luminous, and there was something different in my overall bearing and deportment...I realised that it had only partly to do with the dress, and as much to do with the newfound sense of hope and excitement that had lit like a lamp inside me, for the unknown future stretching out before me in a direction I had never dared imagine possible...

But my initial elation dimmed as I wondered if I really would have to attend a "formal situation" such as Mrs Marsh had hinted at, and, with a shiver of sudden anxiety, I found myself fervently hoping not. The idea of appearing in such grand society was, frankly, frightening. What had I to do with fashionable people and elegant soirees? I had never so much as attended a morning tea, and my knowledge of the etiquette of polite society was purely theoretical.

A little subdued, I took off the silk and donned instead one of the plain poplins. Immediately I felt much less elegant, but much more myself.

* * *

…

Closely situated to the muggle town of Bodmin, and just south of the famous moors of the same name, Turningstone was one of the larger magical enclaves of the south-western provinces. It prided itself, above all things, on its respectability and propriety, and seemed utterly bent upon shaking off the taint of barbarity that it had inherited by belonging to the untamed wilds of Cornwall.

But for all its thorough respectability, Turningstone was still but a small village, with only two Common Floos, one in the hotel at the far end of town, the other situated inside the public tearooms—and it was to this latter one that I headed on a fine, crisp spring morning, my reticule clutched in one hand, and a small trunk levitating at my heels.

Shared between these two containers were the sum of all my worldly possessions.

My trunk contained very little: only my clothes and a few worn books whose pages I knew by rote, but to which I attached a certain sentimentality in their having been gifts from my Aunt—albeit such practical, no-nonsensical gifts as, _"Every Witch's Guide To Household Œconomy", "The Girls' Complete Book Of Sewing Spells"_ and, _"Wellness Charms & Healing Potions For The Home."_

My reticule contained my purse, pocketbook, and a small, charm-extended box containing a dozen small vials of common potions and tinctures. Also carefully stowed inside was the most costly of all my belongings: a velvet sewing-kit stocked with an array of Ever-Sharp needles and pins, several reels of Endless-Thread in assorted colours and a self-actuating measuring tape—the whole set being a present for my eighteenth birthday, and the last I was ever to receive from my Aunt.

All else in the house now belonged to her cousin, and as such, to take anything away would be to be considered stealing—a crime punishable with a life sentence in prison, or even the dreaded "Dementor's kiss" that my Aunt had occasionally terrified me into obedience with as a young child.

Only slightly less terrifying was the wall of disapproving stares which met me as I pushed open the tearoom's glass-panelled doors and stepped into its warm, gaily-painted interior. The hum of lively conversation immediately dropped to a low buzz of speculative murmuring, and I knew that the haberdasher's wife had done her duty to the gossips of the town.

I could count the number of times I had used the Floo on one hand, always in the company of my Aunt, so it was with no small pang of trepidation that I now made my way towards the counter.

As I threaded through the tables, I caught the general gist of the whispering, and my imagination easily supplied the rest. ..." _That's her! Poor old Agna's charity-case muggleborn!" "Going to be a governess for the Malfoys—so she says." "Just what kind of governess needs a fine silk dress, I'd like to ask?" "Only fancy, such a creature entering a respectable establishment, quite unaccompanied, brazen as you please!"..._

Straightening my back, I fixed my eyes straight before me, and did my best to ignore them, though my cheeks burned. Upon reaching the counter, I expected someone to appear and serve me, but after a minute of waiting I picked up the small hand-bell and rang for service.

At length the _maître d'_ appeared. He had always been exceedingly polite to my Aunt, but took no such pains with me. "What do you want?" he snapped, peering at me through his monocle.

Three days ago I would have been daunted by such incivility, but today, standing in my new robes and about to embark on a new life, the same feeling of rebellious resentment that I had experienced at the haberdasher's flooded through me once again. Aware that I was being listened in on, I spoke up boldly to the benefit of them all. "I should like to take the Floo to Tredraconis. One way only, thank you—I shan't return."

"It'll be ten knuts," the man replied, "Five for you, five for your baggage."

I produced the required amount from my coin-purse and placed it on the counter.

With a dismissive grunt, the _maître d'_ scooped out a small measure of Floo powder from a glass bowl, and poured it into my cupped hand. "You want Tredraconis Inn," he told me. "It's the only one in the town, and I might add that it's not fit for respectable folk."

I nodded curtly at him, refusing to be daunted by more aspersions. Stepping up to the hearth, I drew my luggage in beside me and for some moments I stood still, the Floo powder balled in my fist, unable to move or speak, the enormity of the step I was about to take literally paralyzing me. ...But then my eyes swept over the room, taking in the tables full of rudely staring, smirking and scowling witches, and I thought, _There is nothing here for me, anymore..._

I threw down the powder. "Tredraconis Inn!" I cried.

* * *

…

The room into which I emerged could not have been more of a contrast to the one I left.

Gone were the gleaming tables, well-dressed patrons and airy bright windows of the tearooms. Indeed, the room was so dark and dingy that it took me several moments before I could make out anything at all. The first thing I noticed was the smell of the place—a strong, unpleasant mix of stale liquor, rising damp and burning tallow.

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I saw that I was in a tavern, and a more grimy and disreputable-looking establishment I could not recall ever having set foot in. With a sinking sensation in my stomach I beheld the clusters of rough-looking men sitting around rickety tables, drinking from great earthenware beer-flagons or nursing chipped glasses filled with oily, clear liquid. The atmosphere was thick with tobacco smoke which caught in my throat and stung my eyes.

The bar, a great slab of blotched and stained oak, appeared to be unattended. Nervously, I stepped out of the hearth, searching for a friendly face—or at least a female one—whom I might apply to for assistance.

Failing to discover anyone answering to either description, I made a hesitant, general application to the room. "Is...is this Tredraconis?"

No-one replied—nor even appeared to notice me.

Gripping my wand tightly, I took a second step into the room. "Where may I find the inn's publican, please?"

 _Perhaps this isn't Tredraconis,_ I thought, with a thrill of dread. _Perhaps I pronounced it wrongly—_

"Well, well," a voice growled in my ear, and I jumped with a squeak of alarm, whirling to face the looming figure I had not seen approach from the shadows. "Looks like a little stray bird flew down the chim-ber-ley."

A burly wizard loomed large and close, a roguish smile on his dark-stubbled face. His appearance did little to inspire my confidence—rather, he seemed to fit exactly the description of what my Aunt would have called a "knave." His long hair was straggly and matted, his face bore the marks of a recent altercation, and his clothes were unkempt and strangely mismatched, as if collated from a variety of unrelated sources.

His accent sounded odd to my ears, not exactly foreign, but certainly not any Cornish dialect I had ever heard.

Never having been in such close proximity to any wizard before—let alone such a nefarious-looking one—I found myself instinctively recoiling and backing away. Almost immediately, I tripped over a pair of heavy boots, belonging to a second man who had silently moved in behind me, and now caught me as I fell.

"Oho, I think she likes me," said this man, and I was shocked to feel his hands making free with my bodice as he ostensibly righted me to my feet. As I shrugged myself out of his grip, he suddenly drew me tightly back against him, his arms wrapping about my waist like iron brands.

Crying out in protest, I tried to bring up my wand, but my arm was trapped by my side. "Let go of me!—How dare you!— _Help_ me!" I desperately petitioned the other patrons in the room, but was rewarded only by a round of guffaws.

"Calm ya' cauldron, sweeting," said the black-haired wizard, a taunting gleam in his eyes, "we're only being friendly-like." He began closing in on me, until I was trapped in between the two of them. "We don't get too many lady-visitors down this way."

"I can see why!" I spat angrily, struggling wildly to free myself, clawing at the thick arms encircling my waist. "Unhand me this instant, you—you scoundrels!" This epithet earned another snigger from the onlookers, apparently used to seeing this style of treatment of strangers in their midst.

"Aw, that's not a very civil way to speak to gentlemen such as ourselves," the man holding me snarled in my ear, lewdly pressing himself against me. "We only want to get a little better...acquainted." So saying, one of his hands suddenly gripped my chin, forcing my face upwards and holding it still, while the black-haired wizard bent over me and, cutting off my shriek of terror, roughly planted his mouth on mine and thrust his tongue between my lips.

"Alright, that's enough, boys," said a new voice from somewhere nearby. "Let the lass go or you'll feel the sharp end of my stinging hex."

Finding myself abruptly released, I stumbled away from the two wizards, tears of fright and rage spilling down my cheeks as I rubbed my lips with the sleeve of my robe, trying to rid the bitter taste from my mouth.

Belatedly I brought my wand up, although it could afford me but little protection, for I knew no defensive spells but 'Expelliarmus', and not a single jinx or hex. I inwardly vowed that the first item I would purchase with my quarterly wages was a book of duelling spells.

"Curse 'ee for a damn'd killjoy, Fletcha'," the black-haired wizard swore at the intervening party, who I took to be the publican of the inn. "We was only having a little sport wif the wench."

"I told you before not to start trouble in here, Scabior," the publican growled. He was an older, bandy-legged wizard, with an ill-favoured face and sly, darting eyes. "The last thing I need is complaints bringing the law sniffing around this-aways."

"She weren't complaining," said the second wizard, a great, thuggish, fair-haired man—even bigger than his black-haired cohort—less-eccentrically dressed, but equally as shabby and dirty. "At least, not very hard."

"Enough of your guff, Rowle," hissed the publican warningly. Then, wand still wielded at them, he said in a louder voice, "Ask the young lady's pardon, lads."

The men exchanged glances, then the one called Scabior turned to me with a facetious smirk. "Begging your pardon, miss," he said in a tone of exaggerated apology. "I must've been 'overwhelmed by your charms', as they say."

I flushed deeply, the sting of his sarcasm adding insult to the injury already inflicted.

"You too, Rowle."

The blond wizard's eyes trailed insolently over my rumpled bodice. "If you'll only grant me your pardon, miss, I swear next time I'll treat you like a _proper_ lady." He finished with a leering grin.

The publican turned to me. "I hope you don't take it too amiss, young lady," he said, in a wheedling tone that made my skin crawl. "The lads can be a little...uncouth when deep in cups, if you take my meaning. You won't be complaining about this to the authorities, will you now, miss?"

There was a profound silence, and a dangerous, taut tension seemed to fill the room, as if every ear was bent upon my reply. Instinctively I knew my safety—perhaps my life—depended on submitting the correct answer.

"No," I said, my voice audibly shaking, "I won't complain."

Instantly the tension relented, and the men began to drink and talk again. The publican smiled ingratiatingly at me. "Thank you, miss," he said. "We should like to avoid unpleasant consequences at all cost." He said it in such a way as to leave me no doubt that it would be _I_ , not them, who suffered the consequences.

He addressed my attackers again. "Right, you two scumbags sit down and keep your traps shut, or I'll be having words with the governor about you."

The two wizards sauntered over to the bar, the black-haired one executing a mocking bow as he passed by me, the fair-haired man sneering loathsomely.

The publican turned back to me. "Now, what brings you down to Tredraconis, lass?" he asked, his sly eyes darting over me with a kind of calculating interest.

"I wish to get to Malfoy Manor without Apparation," I told him, my voice still unsteady. "Is it within walking distance?"

"It's a fair ways, miss," replied the man. "If you can fly we've got brooms for hire, but I'm afraid we don't have Ladies Brooms or side-saddles."

"No," I replied. "I cannot fly; I suppose I must walk. Can you tell me the way?"

"It would take three hours on foot, miss. But if you care to tarry for an hour here, the porter from the Manor will be stopping by to pick up some...ah, goods. You can arrange to travel back with him." Seeing my dubious glance at the two men at the bar, he added in a lower voice, "The porter is a respectable wizard, miss, you needn't be afraid of him. His sister is governess at the Manor."

I made a small cry of surprise. "But _I_ am the governess!" I said. "At least, that is the post which I am going there to assume."

The publican's eyes narrowed with interest. "Is that so, miss? Aye, well, news travels slow down to these parts. I dare say Miss Weasley left to be married; good-looking, high-spirited wench like her wouldn't stay a maid for long... Even M'lord had eyes for her, though she were too sharp to be caught in his trap."

I experienced a strange pang in my breast. The governess before me, a famous beauty, a clever witch, admired by the gentry! _She_ would not have been so contemptuously manhandled by ruffians, within seconds of arriving...she would never have been put in such precarious situation as I—utterly friendless and hopelessly ignorant as I was.

Once again, my deficiencies rose before me with painful clarity, magnified by the comparison my imagination wrought between myself and my predecessor...this beautiful 'Miss Weasley'.

"Well, lass?" My morose thoughts were interrupted by the publican's voice. "Will you take some refreshments while you wait? It will be on the house for the—ah—inconvenience you suffered."

"No thank—"

"I must insist, miss."

I sensed it would not be wise to continue to refuse. "Just...just a coffee, please," I said faintly.

"I'll bring it over to you. Sit down by the fire," he gestured to a smaller hearth, in which a paltry pile of twigs smoked rather than burned, "—and don't worry about these mangy dogs, they'll not bother you again if they reckon their hands worth keeping." He spoke loud enough for all to hear.

Compliantly I sat down in the indicated seat, using my wand to Accio my trunk to my side.

Moments later the publican brought me a tarnished tray bearing a battered coffee-pot, a jug of watery milk and a none-too-clean cup. "There we are, m'dear," he murmured. His eyes once again flitted over me calculatingly. "If I may make so bold, miss, what is your name?"

"Miss Granger," I replied as quietly as I could, not wishing to make it public knowledge among these villains.

The man bowed. "Mr Fletcher at your service," he said. "Well, Miss Granger, if you care for more coffee, you have only to call for it."

I nodded my thanks, and made a display of pouring out the coffee and milk, though my fingers trembled dreadfully. The coffee was terribly bitter, and a hard lump in my throat made it even more difficult to swallow.

My exciting dream of coming to Tredraconis had already become something of a nightmare, and I had not even been here one quarter of an hour. I recalled the tearoom- _maître d's_ warning that the place was, "not fit for respectable folk". It seemed he had not exaggerated, after all.

I only hoped that Malfoy Manor—if indeed I ever made it there—would not contain any more such unwelcome surprises.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N This chapter contains a little bit of Cornish dialect which I have asterisked like so* and have provided a brief translation in the end notes.  
AU note: Instead of Snatchers, we have Fetchers. Read on to find out more.  
_ _Xox artful_

* * *

...

I very much wished to go outside and see something of the village of Tredraconis, but after the indignity I had suffered at the hands of the two thuggish wizards, I was no longer confident of a friendly reception, or even a respectful one. The watchful (and somewhat disconcerting) gaze of the publican seemed the only thing standing between me and I-knew-not-what peril.

Keeping my eyes bent either on the hearth or my coffee cup, I made myself as unobtrusive as possible while I waited for the porter from the Manor to arrive.

I could not help but feel despondent. It was as if all the building excitement of the preceding few days had been doused by a cold 'Augmenti' spell, and I was left dazed and shivering, wondering what next I was to expect. My Aunt's voice seemed to echo in my mind, berating me for having jeopardised my safety—or, worse, my character; that I had not been left alone ten days but I had embroiled myself in a future of mischief and misery; that for all her hard work to bring me up respectably, I had stumbled at the first hurdle and would undoubtedly fall hereafter.

These melancholy ruminations were eventually interrupted by the swinging open of the inn's heavy oak door, as a young man—perhaps five years older than I—appeared upon the threshold. He was of a tall, lanky stature, with bright copper hair cropped shorter than the fashion and partially hidden beneath a brown leather cap, with a pair of merry blue eyes in a frank, liberally-freckled face.

He certainly cut a better figure than the patrons within the murky tavern, being neatly (though humbly) dressed, and scrupulously clean. His amiable countenance immediately reassured me; I felt instinctively that I had nothing to fear from him.

"Good morrow, pards*!" he addressed the room with cheerful confidence, using an old-fashioned dialect that I had rarely heard spoken in the decorous streets of Turningstone. "Wasson*, Fletcher?"

"Good morrow, Weasley, " the publican called across the room to him. "I'm finer than china, my boy, and good as wand-wood. Step in, and let me fill ye a tankard while the lads load the cart."

The young wizard passed near by me, but did not seem to notice my place by the hearth. Surreptitiously, I watched him approach the counter, where he nodded to and exchanged words with the wizards who had so rudely attacked me, both of whom then sauntered behind the bar and disappeared through a back door. I did not like to see this young man's apparent civility to two such louts as they, and wondered if he would have defended me against them, had he been present an hour earlier. Something made me believe he would have.

The publican drew a tankard of ale for the porter—this 'Weasley'—and the pair began to converse earnestly, the older wizard casting many a sly and furtive look about the room as they talked. At last they both straightened, and the publican led the younger man over to where I was seated.

"Miss Granger," said Mr Fletcher with an oily smile, "allow me to present you to my par-tic-ular friend, Porter Weasley of Malfoy Manor."

I stood and curtsied, and was gratified to observe the copper-haired wizard remove his cap and bow respectfully in return. "Honoured to make your acquaintance, miss," he said, a pleasant tinge of colour spreading across his freckled cheeks as he addressed me. "Fletcher tells me you're to be the new Governess at the Manor."

"Yes, sir," I replied, my eyes bent alternately on the floor, my hands, and anywhere except the personage before me, acutely aware of an complete dearth of experience in conversing with young wizards, let alone begging a favour of one. All other words forsook me, and I more than matched the porter's light flush with a brighter hue of my own.

Observing, I suppose, my sudden confusion, he said in a kindly voice, "If I may, miss, I'm quite at your disposal to carry you thither. ...If you'll only bide a little longer while I help with loading, I'll bring the cart around front."

"Thank you—y-yes, if you please," I stammered, greatly relieved to have the embarrassment of imploring his assistance removed by his offering it. We both made our obeisances again, and the younger wizard departed the same way the two ruffians had a few minutes prior.

Mr Fletcher remained behind, gesturing for me to sit down again, and drawing up a wooden stool he stationed himself nearby.

"If I may impart a few parting words of friendly advice, Miss Granger?"

I didn't particularly wish to hear what he had to say, but could not without rudeness decline. With a brief nod I assented to hear him.

The publican leaned in nearer again to me. "I hope as you won't take it ill, miss," he said in a gruff murmur, "if I make mention that it don't do to ask too many questions around here."

I drew back with a sharp breath, unsure if he were issuing a threat or really (as he put it) offering me advice. Quickly he continued, "Meaning no disrespect to 'ee, miss—I see you are a neat, quiet sort of lass; you must forgive my...indelicate turn of phrase. I only wish to do 'ee a good turn, nothing more."

"I'm much obliged for your concern, but I don't believe such advice necessary," I replied coldly. "I very much doubt I'll return with any haste to Tredraconis, after—." I stopped short. I had been about to say, " _after the disgraceful way I was treated in your establishment",_ but something in the man's keen glance hindered me from doing so.

"That is as may be, miss," said the publican, with an expressive smile at my sudden faltering, "how-some-ever, you'll find it applies as much to the place you're going to, as the one from which you're departing. For all their airs and graces, you'll find that the fine folks up at the Manor have as many skeletons as they have closets to hide 'em in, if you'll pardon another coarse saying. I only want to put you on your guard, Miss Granger, seeing as how you're a stranger to the ways and customs of these parts."

Another warning! I hardly knew what to make of it all. Could I really be blindly blundering into some kind of 'den of iniquity', no better than the one I presently found myself in, or was I merely hearkening to a reprobate with agendas of his own?

"Thank you, Mr Fletcher," I mumbled, with an appearance of submissiveness, though I was still uncertain as to whether his words were intended to forewarn or to frighten me. "I will think on it."

At this timely moment the front door swung open, and the rangy figure of 'Porter Weasley' brightened its threshold a second time. Immediately my heart gladdened to his friendly, honest aspect, and I thought, _if such a man works for the Malfoys, they cannot be so bad...surely?_

"Are you ready, miss?" he asked me, and I responded by quickly donning my bonnet and gloves, picking up my reticule, and recasting a 'Locomotor' on my trunk.

Dipping a brief curtsey to Mr Fletcher, with a parting thanks for the coffee, I turned and made my way over to where the porter waited for me, an engaging smile overspreading his face.

"Cummas 'zon*, maid," he murmured in his rustic dialect, beckoning me to follow him outside. "I'll see thee safely home."

A heavy wooden dray-cart, stacked with boxes, barrells and packages wrapped in oilskin, was stationed on the cobbled street, tethered behind two great, grey Shire horses with silky white manes and large, gentle, dark eyes. I had never seen Shire horses up so close; in genteel Turningstone only slim-legged, elegant horses were seen in the streets, and the work horses relegated to the surrounding fields.

Seeing the awe and admiration on my face as I looked up at the pair—easily eighteen hands apiece—Porter Weasley grinned proudly, patting their noses each in turn.

"This is Oak," he told me, "and this is Ash." Then, addressing the beasts, he said, "My 'ansums*, you'll be carrying a lady, so step light and level."

Stowing my trunk among the piles of freight, the porter then cast a load-lightening charm over the whole cart before handing me up to the wooden plank which served for a seat, springing up beside me to take the reins. I peered along the street, my curiosity a little dimmed by the unprepossessing, dilapidated buildings and grimy, narrow street. I had always supposed the village closest to the famously-magnificent Malfoy Manor would reflect some of its glory, but now I could only hope that its virtues would lie in its contrasts, not its similarities.

The porter flapped the reins and the cart began to rumble forward.

* * *

…

Tredaconis proved to be little more than a one-street village, perhaps only a third the size of Turningstone. Within a few minutes of driving, the terraced granite buildings which loomed forbiddingly over the narrow main street were replaced by rows of small, lime-washed cottages. They looked unkempt and generally run-down, and many were empty.

I considered asking Porter Weasley about the derelict state of the village, but with Mr. Fletcher's warning that "it don't do to ask too many questions" still ringing in my ears, I thought the better of it and held my tongue.

Then, quite suddenly, and much sooner than I had expected, we turned off the cobbled street and were out on the open road, buffeted by a fine wind that rushed over tracts of wild moorland on one side, while on the other—"Oh!" My breath caught with a rush of returning excitement as I turned and surveyed a vista I had only ever seen before in illustrated print or painted canvas.

There it was! The silver sea!

Glistening beneath a bright morning sun, stretching out into infinity, so vast and powerful and breathtakingly beautiful! Hungrily, almost greedily, I devoured the spectacular panorama, drinking in the unfamiliar sights, sounds and scents of the sea crashing upon a pebbled shore far below us, the cry of gulls swooping overhead, and the bracing, briny air that filled my lungs and tasted tangy upon my tongue.

I could not help but be exhilarated, nor contain my exhilaration which burst from me in the form of a joyous laugh. The porter, who had maintained a respectful but amiable silence until now, chuckled at my obvious excitement.

"Hast never beheld the sea, maid?"

"No, never!" I exclaimed. "If only for this, I am glad I came!" Then, noticing a speck of colour in the distance, I asked, "Is that a muggle fishing boat?"

"Nay, 'tis further out than the muggles dare drift."

"These waters are dangerous, then?"

"Treacherous, even to such as ourselves. Many a wizard has pitted his powers against the mighty Atlantic, and been lost to her deeps."

I shivered a little at this. "So that is a wizard's boat?"

"Aye, more than likely a Fetcher's vessel."

"A Fetcher's vessel?...I have never heard that term before," I said.

"'Tis no great wonder; you'll not find such folk but by the coast. They're a thewy, hardy bunch, the Fetchers are, in the business of harvesting ingredients not found in forest nor field."

"You mean, ingredients for potions?"

"Potions, tinctures, draughts...and other, not so wholesome, preparations..."

My eyes widened at the inference I could not help but make from those words. " _Poisons?_ " I asked, aghast even at the implication of such unlawfulness.

The porter bit his lower lip as if regretting having said so much. "Nay, I spoke only in jest," he said quickly. "The Manor folk and the villagers often quiz one another. The call us soft maidens, and we call them smuggling curs. 'Tis no denying they're a rough lot, not overmuch concerned with appearances of civility."

"Indeed, I know too well," I said rather sharply, as I recalled being so contemptuously manhandled by the two ruffians at the inn. "I have already sampled their 'incivility', as you would term it—though _I_ should call it insolence."

The young man was quiet for a moment, then in a chastened voice he murmured, "Fletcher mentioned some trouble."

I flushed at the humiliating memory of being incapacitated by one wizard while the other forced his tongue in my mouth. "I was treated so disgracefully I shall never again set foot in the place," I replied, my voice atremble with rekindled disgust and ire. "I own myself shocked that _you_ are on speaking terms with such scurrilous brutes."

Porter Weasley shrugged apologetically. "Aye, Scabior and Rowle are confirmed velluns*, no mistake," he said. "But t'would be impolitic to affront men whom I must work alongside."

I gasped. "You do not mean to tell me _they_ work for the Malfoys?"

"Not directly, miss. They are hired hands; they work for whomever has coin to pay 'em, and are not scrupulous about the tasks they undertake..." His body suddenly tensed, as if again realising he had said too much, then he added, "However, 'tis my opinion there's more mischief than harm in them."

I was not much pleased by this response to my complaint. It seemed to me that, without the publican's timely interference, the thuggish wizards might very well have inflicted a great deal of harm upon me. And it sounded to me like ' _hired hands'_ was but a euphemism for ' _mercenaries'_.

"Well, I hope never to lay eyes on them again," I said shortly.

"Very likely you won't," the porter replied. "Their work rarely brings them to the Manor—and if ever it should, I'll take pains to keep them out of your way."

"Thank you," I said, though despite his reassurances, I was extremely unhappy to learn that the Manor was no stranger to such wretches darkening its doorstep. My anxiety, however, did not seem to be noticed by my companion, who had quickly regained his cheerful aspect and soon began to whistle a cheery tune.

For an half-hour longer we drove along the rugged coastline, until finally the road turned inward and we left the coastal splendour for a quieter, quainter terrain of lush fields and winding lanes hemmed in by "Cornish hedges"—tall walls of interlocking rocks grown over with grass, moss and heather. The horses made good speed, thanks to the load-lightening charm cast upon the cart, and when I asked how long the journey might take, the wizard assured me we would reach the Manor in another half-hour or so.

After a while I gained the courage to speak on a subject which had played on my mind since I had first heard it mentioned by the publican. "Porter Weasley, I hope you won't think me impertinent if I ask you a—a question," I said, then lapsed immediately into silence, afraid to actually submit it.

The porter turned and smiled encouragingly at me. "Ask away, miss, I don't mind."

"Well...well, you see...Mr Fletcher informed me that the position I'm to fill at the Manor was last occupied by your sister. Forgive my curiosity, but may I ask why she left so suddenly?"

The young man's smile did not waver, but seemed somehow to stiffen. "...She did not impart her reasons to me," he said at length. "But then, we aren't close or confiding. She never did like to—." he stopped abruptly, then spoke again in such a way as made me believe he changed the content of his original sentence. "—to stay in one place for long. She is a flighty, headstrong sort of lass." He did not say it unkindly, but I was sure there was a note of discontent in his voice.

"I'm sorry to seem officious," I said, "it is only that I have heard some...puzzling accounts of the Malfoy family, and I wonder if your sister's reasons for leaving might all too soon become my own."

The porter seemed to relax a little at this, and the frank quality returned to his smile. "Oh, 'tis doubtful you'll have much to do with the family, miss. Keep your head down and you'll get along fine—that's my own policy, and it's stood me in good stead these five odd years."

I nodded, but did not reply. _"Keep your head down,"_ reminded me very much of something my Aunt Agna would have advised me to do.

As I mused on this, a great black coach appeared suddenly in the narrow lane, preceded by four magnificent black horses. Porter Weasley swiftly reined in and swerved upon the verge, giving way—and it was just as well he did, for the vehicle showed no sign of slowing down or deviating from its path.

It was quite a formidable sight, bearing down on us at such velocity; huge, black and gleaming beneath the bright morning sun. As it approached I could see that it was driven by two coachmen, sitting high up, while a footman stood at the rear of the coach. They were dressed in full, splendid livery, the colours of their frock-coats matching the silver and green appointments of the carriage, including a beautiful design on its door, identical to that which had graced the top of the Indenture Retainer I had signed, and which I now knew to be the Malfoy coat-of-arms.

None of the coachmen deigned to acknowledge us as the carriage thundered past us.

Raising my eyes from the Malfoy crest and shield, I was suddenly conscious of a gaze connecting with mine through the pane of glass above it. My breath caught in my throat and a strange shiver stole over my body as I beheld a pair of silver eyes glittering icily in a sharply-chiselled, high-bred face, framed strikingly by a sheet of long, white-blond hair.

In mere seconds the coach was gone, but I had the strangest feeling for some minutes afterwards that those eyes were still fixed on my own.

"Who was that?" I tentatively asked the porter, who was clicking to his own pair of horses and gently urging them back onto the road.

"Why, that was Milord, of course," he replied.

Yes...yes, of course I had guessed as much, but the man looked so entirely different from the sketch my imagination had furnished, that I was unaccountably unsettled. The fact of his having a full-grown son, the rumours of his cruelty and affinity with Dark magic had made me envisage him as a much older man with a sunken, wizened face, twisted with spite and malice, with a back hunched from poring over his forbidden books and brews... I _hadn't_ imagined him to be so young—in a palpably powerful prime, perhaps mid-forties, or a little older. And I certainly had never imagined him to be so...so very... _beautiful._

"Where is he going in that coach?" I asked, a little too loudly, trying to distract myself from that last unbidden thought. "Does not the Manor have a Private Floo connection?"

"Aye, but Milord has many interests in the area, outside the reach of the Floo Plexus."

"Why does he not fly or Apparate?"

The young man paused a little before answering, as if wondering how best to reply. "'Tis the fashion to travel in high style," he murmured. Then after some further minutes of deliberation, he said, "Not wishing to alarm you, miss, but I take it you have not heard of the unfortunate incidents afflicting the family in recent times?"

"No!" I exclaimed, very much alarmed despite his wishes. "What do you mean?"

"Not to worry, miss; you and I are safe as Gringotts, as the saying goes..." He peered around us, as if not quite convinced of his own words. "'Tis only the family who've been targeted, which has led to a general disinclination for broom-flying and other forms of unaccompanied travelling."

"Targeted!" I cried. "Do you mean that attempts have been made upon their lives?"

"Aye, I suppose I do mean that," he replied. "On one occasion the young master was thrown from his broom, on another, the sister of Milady (rest her soul) was ambushed and suffered a Curse to her face—nearly lost her eye, she did. Milord himself was attacked only two weeks ago, but he managed to fight them off—"

"Them? Then there was more than one assailant?"

"Aye, there were three on that occasion."

"But why?" I cried, now really frightened. "Who should wish to murder them?"

"No one knows, miss. But, if I may say so, the family are better at making enemies than keeping friends—although," he added hurriedly, and I feared not quite truthfully, "I know nothing about that."

My heart sunk at this. So, perhaps there _was_ some veracity to the rumours I had hoped were but idle gossip... Recalling vividly those silver eyes and that supercilious, almost cruelly-beautiful face, I began to think I could believe them.

Before I could sink too far into despondency, the road twisted and suddenly widened, opening up a vista almost as breath-taking as my first glimpse of the sea, causing me to gasp aloud and my heart to thud wildly inside my chest.

An immense wrought-iron gate, ornately scrolled and set between two great stone columns, stretched up into the noon-day sky, flanked by a high railing which disappeared into a row of hedges on each side. Beyond this gate was a wide stretch of smooth, velvety grass, sloping upwards and encircled by a ring of gravel that formed a long driveway leading up towards the zenith of this incline. Looming at the top like some enormous medieval fortress, stood the famous—or I was beginning to believe, infamous—Malfoy Manor.

Though I had seen its illustrated likeness sketched in journals and books, I was unprepared for the sheer scale of the place, the impenetrable facade, the imposing turrets and thick buttresses, which seemed to dominate the very landscape over which it looked.

I...I was to live and work in _there?_

Momentarily it seemed impossible— _everything_ seemed impossible, and I felt almost paralyzed by doubt, dismay, and even a kind of terror. How could I ever hope to forge a place for myself in such a noble and forbidding residence, belonging to such a noble, forbidding master? How could I possibly measure up to the standard already set by the beautiful and clever governess who preceded me? How dared I even set my foot in a place steeped in so much history and grandeur? ...I, so plain, so ignorant, so _ignoble_...

"Don't worry, miss," the porter's cheerful voice threaded through my thoughts; evidently he had noticed the despair and panic I could not disguise. "They're no better than the rest of us, and some of 'em are a deal sight worse."

He flicked his wand and the gates swung silently open.

* * *

…

 _Notes:  
_ _*Good morrow, pards—Good morning, friends  
_ _*Wasson, Fletcher—How are you, Fletcher?  
_ _*Cummas 'zon, maid—Come on then, maid  
_ _*my 'ansums—"my handsomes", a casual term of endearment in Cornwall, similar to "my friends"_

 _A/N Love to hear your thoughts on the chapter :) Thanks for reading! xox artful_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N_ _Hope you enjoy this chapter!_

 _xox artful :)_

* * *

...

Porter Weasley urged his horses through the huge wrought-iron gates, handling them with a gentleness and expertise that I could not help admiring. Once through, he paused to close the gates behind us. His ability with his wand was, I noticed, more clumsy and exaggerated than his ability with his animals—but effective, none-the-less.

The driveway leading to the Manor's imposing entrance swept up through a sea of velvety grass in an elegant curve, but the young man directed the noses of his horses in a different direction. A narrower path veered off to the right and was swallowed in trees, and this we followed in a great ring around the base of the hillock, emerging a couple of minutes later from the enclosing foliage. I gasped at the alarming vista which met my eyes: instead of the gently-sloping and manicured lawn on its front-side, the back way proved to be not much more than a rocky tor with a zigzagging track carved into its sheer incline, over which the back-exterior of the Manor ominously presided.

"There's the staff entrance, miss," the porter announced, pointing at a large iron-braced oak door set into the hewn masonry at the top.

Once again, I struggled to control the wild racing of my pulse at the sight of such an imposing building. If anything, this back aspect of the Manor seemed even _more_ like some grim, medieval fortress, with small windows and no decorative masonry-work save for a pair of ugly gargoyles perched above the door, glaring menacingly down the hillside, as if daring any foe to approach.

"Gee-up, me 'ansomes," the young man urged Ash and Oak, who seemed, understandably, rather unwilling to begin the steep ascent. "You don't wish Miss Granger to think'ee lazy brutes, do you, lads?"

"I begin to share their reluctance," I murmured, earning a chuckle from my companion at my obvious dismay.

"Don't worry, miss," he said cheerfully. "We've only ever overturned twice, and once was owing to foul weather."

I was not able to derive much comfort from this revelation, but indeed, as we began to make progress up the steep, irregular path, the horses proved stable and the driver extremely careful, and at length I was able to relax sufficiently to look out over the surrounding countryside.

It was very fair, though quite flat: a pleasing chequerboard of green fields and yellow pasture, with woodlands in the distance and a stippling of cottages throughout. The spectacular coastline was also discernible, closer than I had expected, but partially obscured by our present location upon the hill. I surmised that the ocean would be fully visible from the east-facing windows of the Manor, and secretly hoped that my room might be situated to overlook it—although I supposed those vantages would be reserved for the 'great folk', as Porter Weasley termed them.

As my gaze wandered over the landscape, I noticed a strange structure, about a mile inland, protruding out from a wider surrounding of dense, leafy trees. It was very tall and narrow, almost like a single turret of a castle, replete with battlements encircling its pinnacle.

"What is that stone tower yonder?" I asked my companion curiously. "Is it a ruin? Or a monument of some kind?"

"Neither one, nor other," Porter Weasley replied. "'Tis a queer kind of house."

"A house! How extraordinary! I should never have guessed that. ...It looks quite peculiar."

"No wonder; it belongs to a long line of peculiar wizards. All of that wooded area and what it contains within is an ancient free-holding. 'Tis the only piece of land as far as the eye sees, which is not owned by the present Milord."

"Indeed?"

"Aye, and a thorn in the side of every Lord Malfoy these past five-hundred years, for it is stocked with such rare plants and creatures as you'll not easily discover anywhere else in Britain. ...But perchance Milord will not have to wait much longer to gain the land..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see miss, the family line is nearly extinguished. Only two of them remain: the present Squire Lovegood and his daughter, for Mistress Lovegood died ten years since, and the Squire never took a second wife. Them as never having a son, it falls to young Miss Lovegood to marry and provide an heir; however she is a sickly creature, not likely to see her next birthday."

"How old is Miss Lovegood?"

"I should place her about your own age, miss."

I reddened, wondering at what age he "placed" me, but not venturing to ask. Instead I remarked, "Well, I hope she may recover her health!" For some strange reason, I didn't like to think of the rich and powerful Lord Malfoy finally 'gaining' what he and his ancestors so long had coveted, at the expense of a frail young woman's life. Almost defiantly, I added, "And, perchance, one day she may marry, and continue on the family line."

'Tis doubtful," answered the porter. "The lass has not been seen these past three months, and there's talk she's confined to her bed with a mortal illness."

"Cannot she be healed?"

"Squire Lovegood refuses any assistance in treating her."

"But why?"

The young man shrugged. "To speak truth, there is something rum about every Lovegood, such as was and is. Even the Squire's wife was a singular sort of witch, given to experimenting with magic, which killed her in the end.—Not to speak ill of the dead, but so it happened. All of 'em are a little... _'touched in the head'_ , as the saying goes _._ "

I drew a breath, then hesitantly asked, "There is...madness in the family?"

"Some might say, miss," he replied, "but I shouldn't go so far. Miss Lovegood is a pretty, gentle sort of maid, but with a singular manner and a wandering way of talking. As for the Squire, I've heard him called a polymath, but of such things beyond the understanding of ordinary folk. They keep pretty well to themselves, which may be wisdom or folly, depending who you ask."

All of this information was extremely interesting to my unworldly eyes. The quiet house and conservative town in which I had grown up had been utterly devoid of such diverse and intriguing characters as this morning's adventure had already presented to me. Once again, I felt a stir of sympathy for the sickly girl, and a surge of dislike against the cruel-looking Lord in his gleaming black coach who must be looking eagerly to her early demise...

But soon my thoughts were eclipsed by other more-pressing topics, for at last we had surmounted the zigzagging back driveway, and Ash and Oak were bid to "Whoa" outside the massive oak door.

The porter sprang down from his perch with an agility that belied his lanky stature. "Here is your stop, miss!" he exclaimed, loosening the canvas dray-cover and fetching my trunk from amongst the stowed freight. Coming around to my side, he reached up and extended his hand for me to take, it being a fair drop to the ground.

With another blush, I slipped my right hand into his waiting palm, then, gripping my reticule firmly with my left hand, I jumped down onto the grassy verge. I stumbled a little upon landing, and was quickly steadied by the wizard, however he relinquished his hold as soon as my footing was restored, taking no insulting liberties like those taken by the two ruffians at the Inn.

Removing his cap, the sunlight danced off the young man's russet hair, only a little less highly pigmented than his flushing countenance. "It was an honour to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger," he said, executing an inelegant but courteous bow. "I hope we may meet again afore long."

I curtseyed in return. "Thank you for bringing me here, Porter Weasley. If not for your assistance I do not know how I would have found my way."

"'Twas no trouble and much pleasure." He paused, and then, a little bashfully, he said, "If ever you wish to be carried to Tredraconis or elsewhere abouts, make free to send an owl to the Porter's Lodge. It is not a quarter-mile from here, and I should be glad to ride with 'ee again."

I stammered my thanks, unsure if it were more a breach of propriety to accept or decline such an offer.

Observing my confusion, he quickly added, "Intending no disrespect, miss. I only meant in case of emergency, or...or such."

I was grateful for his discretion, if not his delicacy. "You are very kind," I replied.

There was an odd sort of silence, as if the young man were caught been the intention to depart and a desire to linger. Then suddenly he bent toward me and, in a low and furtive tone, he murmured, "I hope as you won't mind if I make bold to offer a final word of warning, 'ere we part, miss."

I stared at him, surprised, recalling the unsought-for 'advice' bestowed on me by Mr Fletcher, the keeper of Tredraconis Inn.

Hurriedly, the porter continued, "'Tis only—'tis only to beware, and keep as much away as possible from Milord and the young Master." As he spoke, I saw something like a shadow cross his usually-sunny countenance. "They're not such as can be trusted, for all their grand ways and fine manners."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, alarmed at yet another hint that my employer was not all that he should be. "I...I shall bear that in mind. At any rate, I can't think of any reason why I _would_ have anything to do with them, or they with me."

At this, the porter's expression relaxed and he nodded. "True enough, miss," he said, a smile returning to his face.

He bowed once more, then strode back to his cart, swinging himself back up into his seat as easily as he had got down. He donned his cap, and, turning to me, he pointed to a long rope which hung down from the open jaws of the left-hand gargoyle, like a long serpent-tongue. "Pull that rope and you'll be let in by one of the servants directly." He flapped his reins and the cart rumbled forwards. " _Dyw genes_ , maid!" he called out jauntily. "Goodbye!"

"Goodbye," I replied rather softly, experiencing an unfamiliar kind of pang in my breast as I watched him drive away. It seemed to me that, in the course of this one short journey, I had made my first ever friend.

I levitated my trunk, then, turning toward the massive door, I slowly approached it.

I felt almost as if the gargoyles were watching me with sneering malintent, and their gloating expressions incited a whirl of tormenting questions in my mind _—how ought I address the servants?—would the family be welcoming and kind, or disdainful and supercilious?—would Mrs Marsh be there, or was I to be thrown amongst total strangers?—did they know I was a muggle-born?—_ &c, &c, until I felt almost maddened with fear and doubt.

For a full several minutes I stood, gazing up at the grotesque figures with a kind of dread-filled awe, unable to bring myself to reach up and pull the rope, my courage quite deserted as I contemplated all the terrible breaches of etiquette, novice mistakes and mortifying blunders I was bound to make, the moment I set my foot inside.

But at length, my Aunt Agna's sensible voice filtered through the mire of my insecurities. _"...A mistake only remains a mistake if you do not learn from it..."_

I straightened my back. What good was it to tarry on the threshold like a dithering fool? I could not very well turn around and go back home; I had no home. This— _this_ was my new home. There was nothing to do except try my best to fit into it, and learn as quickly as I could as I went along.

With a deep breath, I reached up and tugged the rope, recoiling a little in surprise at the shrill ring it produced. Quickly I smoothed my dress, then stood with my reticule clutched in my trembling hands and my trunk at my feet, trying to appear confident and unperturbed.

Soon enough the door swung inward with a heavy groan, and I found myself face-to-face with a comely, black-eyed kitchen-maid, with a sharp face, impudent expression, and a tightly-fitted ruffled apron that rather emphasized than hid her generous curves.

She did not speak, only fixed her bold dark eyes on me and arched one eyebrow saucily, as much to say, _'And what do_ _you_ _want?'_

"Good day," I said hesitantly, my paper-thin bravura wavering in the face of such manifest audacity. "Is the housekeeper—I mean, would it be possible—that is, _may_ I speak with Mrs Marsh?"

"Madam's away today," the lass answered, with such a pert simper as left me doubtful as to her truthfulness.

"I see," I said, my heart sinking along with my courage. But then I felt my hackles rise under the wench's brazen stare, and I decided I was _not_ going to be bullied by a kitchen maid, however quizzical and impertinent. I fixed her eye and, summoning a frosty voice, I said, "Please notify whomever is in charge in Mrs Marsh's stead, that the new governess has arrived."

At this, the maid looked rather taken-aback, and I was glad to see her bite her cherry lip as she hastily bobbed a curtsey. "Come inside, miss," she said in a chastened tone. "I'll show 'ee to Madam's parlour; maybe that she's returned early."

And so I took my first step inside the great and noble Malfoy Manor.

As I crossed the threshold, a shiver ran over me, perhaps from the cooler indoor temperature, or perhaps it was my excited nerves. It was the same tingling sensation that I had experienced when accidentally meeting the icy gaze of him to whom everything within these ancient walls belonged. He, whose vast riches appeared to have secured him neither sanctuary, nor companionship, nor contentment—if all that I had learned today held any truth.

And in my head, Porter Weasley's words echoed ominously... _"Keep away from Milord and the young Master...they're not such as can be trusted..."_

* * *

...

I followed the girl into a dimly-lit corridor. It proved narrow and quite long, with high wood-panelled walls, upon which flickering torches projected from brass sconces at regular intervals, lighting the way along great flags of bare, polished stone.

As we walked, I could hear the bustle of conversation and clattering cutlery, and, soon enough we passed a pair of open double-doors. A furtive glimpse inside revealed to me a large oaken table, around which twelve or thirteen servants were grouped, sitting to their midday luncheon.

"That be the Servant's Hall, miss," the maid volunteered, regaining some of her saucy boldness. She ought not to have noticed my surreptitious glance, let alone made free to comment on it. "We take our meals and do our mending there. But you won't have much to do with us; I dare say you'll take your meals up in your room."

I wasn't sure how to answer, and settled on an indistinct, "Oh?"

With a tone of assumed artlessness, she added, "That be what _she_ did, when she first came here. The last governess as was, I mean. Of course, that changed soon enough. Dined with the family every night, she did. She was quite the favourite of...Well, I dare say I shouldn't say too much about that..." She trailed off and glanced slyly at me, hoping I would take her bait.

"No more you should," I replied primly, refusing to be ensnared by the gossip of a servant, although I secretly burned to know more.

I hoped she might be subdued by my rebuff, but indeed the insolent wench merely tossed her dark hair and smirked. "Well, to be sure it will be quite different for _you,_ " she said, pointedly eyeing my unshapely figure. I held my tongue, for it seemed to be the only way to curb hers.

We passed two more open doors, which proved only to be storage rooms; presumably the kitchen and scullery lay behind one of the many doors that remained closed, or else they were situated at an underground level. I wondered what degree of segregation lay between the human staff and the elvish one; I supposed it would be quite a distinct one.

Finally, we reached the end of the corridor, and the serving-maid tapped on a door which stood slightly ajar.

"Enter!" came the crisp voice belonging to Mrs Marsh.

The black-eyed lass made a comic display of extreme surprise. "Why, it seems you be in luck, miss. I cannot _think_ when Madam should have come back." With a very indifferent curtsey, she sashayed away and disappeared into the Servant's Hall.

I set down my trunk and reticule, then swiftly removed my bonnet and placed it on top of the articles of luggage. Patting my closely-braided hair for any loose tendrils, and discovering none, I slowly pushed the door wider and timidly stepped inside.

The "parlour" was really a spacious and well-appointed kind of office, furnished with handsome dark furniture and with a large window overlooking a pleasant and sunny kitchen-garden in an enclosed courtyard.

Mrs Marsh herself was sitting at a tall bureau, poring over a long scroll, a pair of round, gold-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose. I didn't wish to interrupt her concentration, so instead I stood still and waited for her to look up. At length the housekeeper murmured, "What is it?" without looking up from her scroll—I suppose she took me to be a servant on an errand.

Awkwardly, I spoke. "Good...good-day, Mrs Marsh."

Immediately the housekeeper unbent from her work, removing her glasses to look at me. "Ah! Miss Granger, is it you?" She quickly arose from her seat in a rustle of stiff silk, coming forward to greet me. As we shook hands, I could see her gaze sweeping over my improved appearance with evident surprise—and, I hoped, approval. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you," I replied. I was relieved to see a familiar face, but none-the-less nervous in the presence of such a poised and confident gentlewitch.

"I'm glad you've safely arrived...I trust you found us easily enough?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, somewhat untruthfully. I did not wish to admit the difficulties I had faced in getting here, for that would mean disclosing my inability to either Apparate or fly—two dreadful inadequacies that I feared could cost me my employment.

Mrs Marsh beckoned me to follow her to a small, round rosewood table. "Will you take some tea and cake?" she asked me. "I was about to have some myself."

I thanked her and accepted, for I hadn't eaten since the night before, my nerves too wrought for breakfast, and the only beverage that had passed my lips was the unpalatably bitter coffee forced on me at Tredraconis Inn.

"First let me take your robe and bonnet," the lady said, helping me out of it. As she hung it on a stand near the door, I saw her inspecting the garment. "I suppose you must have laid out quite a sum for this robe," she said. "For surely you didn't make it yourself."

"I did make it myself!" I blurted out, then flushed scarlet at my ungainly vehemence.

Mrs Marsh turned her eyes on me, taking my new poplin dress into her sharp glance. "And that dress, too?" she said. "That is also your own work?"

"It is, ma'am," I said quietly, managing to gain my self-control. "I also made a second one like it, as well as a Sunday dress, and an evening gown besides."

Her eyes widened in real astonishment. "You created five garments in two days? You must be a very diligent worker and an extremely advanced seamstress."

"I—I hardly know, ma'am," I replied with a stammer, for my Aunt had never praised my work in such superlative terms. "I suppose so."

Mrs Marsh's keen gaze relented as she observed my confusion. "Forgive me; I did not mean to put you out of ease. I simply had not expected such a high calibre of needle-spellwork from someone so young." She regarded me thoughtfully for a few moments, then, collecting herself, she gestured to a seat at the rosewood table. "Please to sit, Miss Granger."

Taking our places, the housekeeper incanted an elegant little spell which caused the tea-things to lay out, the pot to pour and the cake to slice. I had learned a more-basic version from my Aunt, but made a mental note to practice these additional niceties for future use.

"Will you have milk and sugar?" asked the lady.

"Yes, if you please, ma'am," I said, hoping that I was choosing the most genteel option. In truth, I had never taken sugar with my tea, and only the smallest drop of milk—such were my Aunt's preference, and, by default, my own.

The tea was deliciously sweet and aromatic, and the cake as light as a feather. I was used to much humbler tea-time fare: plain black tea, much diluted, with toasted muffins or fairing biscuits; or my Aunt's heavy "keeping-cake" made from caraway seeds and Madeira that would make its inevitable appearance on special occasions. _She_ would never have approved of something so insubstantial as this mere puff of sugar that melted to nothing as soon as it met the tongue.

We commenced to exchange the usual stock of ritualistic pleasantries of the tea-table: talking of the agreeable weather, the varied beauties of the countryside, and the panoramic vistas afforded from the Manor's vantage.

How grand I felt! Sipping sugary tea and partaking of fine sponge-cake in a great mansion, tête-à-tête with an elegant gentlewitch...I could almost forget this morning's traumatic episode at the Inn, and quite willingly pushed to the back of my mind the fears and doubts I harboured about my sinister new Master. Perhaps it would not be so difficult to fit in here, after all...

Almost as soon as this seductive thought flittered through my mind, Mrs Marsh deflated it entirely with her next sentence. "Miss Granger," she suddenly addressed me, straightening her back and assuming a business-like tone, "I hope you will allow me to make some...helpful suggestions, regarding how you may be expected to behave while under this roof."

I nearly gasped with dismay. What was it about me that evidently required repeated cautioning? First Mr Fletcher's ' _friendly advice',_ then Porter Weasley's _'words of warning'_ —and now Mrs Marsh's ' _helpful suggestions'. ..._ Was I so very gauche? So hopelessly, _abominably_ gauche?

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied, my cheeks aflame, "—but I hope my _behaviour_ will always be beyond reproach, however ignorant I am of the fastidious etiquette of the nobility."

"Indeed, it was the wrong word to employ," Mrs Marsh said apologetically. "Please, don't be offended. Knowing, as I do, how entirely friendless and without connections you are—how little experience you have of Pureblood society and great houses—I feel a certain...responsibility for your welfare. I only wish to offer you some well-meant guidance, if you will allow me?"

"Of course, ma'am," I said, mollified by her words. "That is very kind of you."

After a short pause to pour out some more tea for each of us, she began. "Miss Granger, a governess holds a unique position in a household such as this one. She is ranked above the servants, yet she is not on equal terms with the family she serves. She cannot with real propriety mingle with either her inferiors or superiors, and must stand aloof from all of them, guarding the perimeters of her position with utmost care..."

I took refuge in a gulp of tea. With a sting of self-consciousness, I thought of my friendly conversation with Porter Weasley. Ought I have maintained a cool reticence with that young man during our journey? But surely there was no harm in being cordial to a person who had rescued me from the unpleasant situation I found myself in...

"However," the lady continued, "on occasion, a governess with particularly engaging attributes may find herself distinguished by her employers, and invited to travers these perimeters." Mrs Marsh regarded me gravely. "...Mark me when I tell you, it is far better when the boundaries are properly preserved. An unmarried, unprotected young woman is particularly vulnerable to certain...persuasions and influences. She can never be too careful or suspicious of any man's attentions—but particularly those of her superiors."

I physically started, spilling my tea in my saucer, aghast at the inferences I was forced to make. "But I am only a plain muggle-born!" I exclaimed. "I am sure to be quite safe from _anybody's_ attentions." And I laughed somewhat bitterly at the ludicrous idea of me being targeted for seduction by the lofty Lord, or wayward son.

"That is true, to an extent," the woman answered, causing me inwardly to flinch. "I admit, your blood status and...er, _quiet_ appearance—" (I was sure she had been about to say 'quaint') "—were favourable considerations in making the decision to offer you this position. I do not wish past mistakes to be repeated."

I nodded and sipped my tea with as neutral an expression as I could muster. But inwardly, my heart was cruelly smote. How abominably naïve I was! It was _not_ that Mrs Marsh had discerned in me some undiscovered potential and latent talent—it was the exact reverse! I had been hired, not for what I possessed, but for what I _lacked_ : my lack of beauty, my lack of 'engaging attributes', my lack of purity...

"Again, you must forgive me," the housekeeper said. "I think I have upset you, when I only wish to put you on your guard."

"No, indeed," I managed to reply with an appearance of tranquility, "I appreciate your concern, ma'am."

The lady nodded, evidently pleased by my tractability. "Let me be a little more candid, Miss Granger," she said. "The governess before you was rather a headstrong young lady, and did _not_ see fit to heed such advice. She developed quite an intimacy with the family which (I'm sorry to say it) culminated in something of a scandal, by which she alone was injured." I recalled the porter's strange reticence about his sister, and his warning words about the Lord and his son. What exactly had instigated her sudden desertion from her post? I longed to know more, but Mrs Marsh quickly obviated that possibility by saying, "We will not go into particulars, and I ask that you do not concern yourself with discovering them. Suffice it to say, it will be in your own best interests if you keep your attentions focused as much as possible on your young charge."

At this mention, I quickly seized upon the subject, relieved to divert the conversation to something less mortifying. "Pray tell me, who _is_ my charge?" I asked. "And when shall I meet them?"

"She is Miss Clarastella, a little girl of four years," Mrs Marsh replied. "You will meet her tomorrow."

"A...and..." I faltered awkwardly, "...to whom does she belong?"

Mrs Marsh seemed to weigh her words for a moment. "That," she said at length, "is not something I am presently at liberty to answer. It is enough to say, that she is to be _treated_ as if she were Lord Malfoy's own daughter, and—mark this carefully—she has been brought up to understand as much. You, Miss Granger, will see to it that she continues to understand it. You would also be wise to curb any curiosity you may develop around the subject, and certainly not listen to the idle tattling of the servants; in the past there have been dismissals over lapses in discretion."

"Oh! I...I see. Thank you for forewarning me."

"It would be remiss of me not to." She seemed again to regard me thoughtfully, then, in a much-altered tone, she gently added, "Do not worry yourself overly, Miss Granger. If you are as you appear—that is, a humble and sensible person, not given to flights of fancy or immoderate inquisitiveness—you will do very well here."

I nodded demurely. But the truth was, I hardly knew _what_ sort of person I was, for indeed, I had never before been at liberty to discover it.

...


	5. Chapter 5

After we finished tea, Mrs Marsh announced that she would presently show me to my room.

"It is on the far-side wing of the floor above," she said, as she handed me back my robe, "but we must take the stairs. No-one excepting Milord can Apparate within the house or gate's perimeter—not even his son. However, you will soon learn your way around."

I followed her out of her parlour and gasped with dismay as I realised my trunk, reticule and bonnet were nowhere to be seen. Before I could exclaim on their disappearance, the housekeeper informed me of their whereabouts. "Your things have already been taken to your room, Miss Granger. I left instructions with the house-elves to assist with your luggage whenever it arrived."

"By house-elves!" I asked, my curiosity most piqued by the mention of these creatures of which I had only ever beheld the briefest glimpse. "Then there is more than one belonging to this family?"

"There are several," she replied, locking her door with a concise flick of her wand, and beckoning me to follow her around the corner, leading down another long corridor. "Though you will rarely see them—indeed they are not _fit_ to be seen, ugly, ragged little beasts..." Her shoulders shrugged, as if the mere idea of them caused her disgust. "But, of course, they have their uses. _They_ are not bound by the magic which prevents us mages from Apparating, and so they may fetch and carry things about which do not call for elegant service."

I made no reply, but privately I felt a little repulsed by her tone of contempt as she spoke of these elusive magical beings, for which I had always felt something of a strange sympathy and even affinity. I hoped one day to speak with one, although I knew that, as an outsider, I would have little reason to do so.

About half-way along the corridor we passed two doors standing opposite each other; Mrs Marsh told me that one lead into the baking room and the other into the kitchen-garden courtyard which I had seen from the window of her own room. Soon we approached the end, coming to a door which opened to another of Mrs Marsh's deft wand-movements. "And _this_ is the Main Hall, Miss Granger," she announced as we crossed the threshold.

I stopped short with a cry of wonder, transfixed to the spot with utter amazement.

Never in my life had I beheld such magnificence! Every surface seemed to gleam with luxury and splendour, from the chequered marble floor underfoot, to the heavy, many-tiered chandelier suspended from the ceiling far, far above. An enormous staircase dominated the centre of the room, set between twin balusters of intricately-scrolled mahogany, and carpeted with a dark-green Kashan runner of intricate design. The stairs lead up to a ' _mezzanine'_ from which point it divided in twain and continued up in opposite directions, carrying one onto the balcony of floor above.

"Splendid, is it not?" Mrs Marsh's voice beside me brought me out of my awe-struck paralysis.

"I...I've never seen anything so grand," I replied, hardly knowing where next to look—at the beautiful paintings entirely covering one wall; or the back panels of carved oak, depicting famous hunting scenes, betwixt which a huge door was set; or the two open archways flanking the stairway, promising to lead to a lighter, airier room—the vestibule, I presumed.

"The late Lady Malfoy did much to improve the interior," the housekeeper continued, evidently pleased by my astonishment. "It used to be quite as gloomy and gothic inside as out; but as you see, everything has been refurbished in the modern style." She sighed sadly, gazing about as if indulging a fond memory, and her voice and expression softened as again she spoke. "Milady had the most exquisite taste and natural elegance, matched only by the perfection of her beauty...But the brightest candles always extinguish the soonest."

Not having known the lady of whom she spoke, I could only nod in silent sympathy, and though I should have liked to ask how she had met her early demise, my discretion kept me in check.

At length the housekeeper stirred and moved to the foot of the staircase. "Come, Miss Granger," she said, recovering her usual business-like tone, "there is much more to show you on our way."

I hurried after her, alighting upon the grand staircase with another pang of insecurity, wondering for the umpteenth time how I— _I, Hermione Jean Granger, orphan muggle-born_ —had come to be in such a place.

Mrs Marsh paused on the _mezzanine_ , waiting for me to catch up. Then she gestured to the left-leading stairway. "There's no need for me to acquaint you with _that_ part of the house," she said, "for it only leads only to the Guest Suite, and to some of the family bedrooms." She spoke lightly, but I sensed something in her tone, harking back to her earlier words of warning.

"Does the family have guests very often?" I asked, wishing to deflect from these unspoken implication.

"Oh, yes; quite regularly," Mrs Marsh replied. "There is a small party of visitors now: the Lord and Lady Greengrass with their two daughters." Then, seeing the look of worry on my face, she added with a smile, "However, they depart tomorrow and you won't be required to meet them."—For which I was exceedingly relieved.

I followed the housekeeper up the right-leading flight of stairs, my excitement growing with each step. We gained the landing, and I was surprised to be met at the top with a row of arched windows which looked down onto a courtyard below—not the kitchen-garden that I had seen in the servant's wing, but a beautiful rose-garden encircled by narrow gravel pathways and hedge-rows shaped into intricate, geometric patterns, in the centre of which stood a white 'courting bench' of ornately wrought iron.

"That is the Rose Courtyard," Mrs Marsh told me. "It contains some of the rarest specimens in the world...another legacy of My dear Lady." Then, pointing out two tall windows on the opposite side, she added, "You may see that your room has a direct view down upon it."

I swallowed down sigh of disappointment. So I was not to have an ocean-view, after all...

Mrs Marsh then directed my attention to a closed door on the adjacent wall. "That room is Milord's personal office," she told me. "You may be required to report there from time to time, should he wish to speak with you about your duties."

I cast an alarmed glance at the imposing slab of polished wood, wondering what lay behind it—could it be a room crammed with dark objects and forbidden books? But then I chided myself for imagining something so unlikely. Even if the rumours of Lord Malfoy's proclivity for the Dark Arts proved true, surely he wouldn't display them in his _office_.

Mrs Marsh now moved past me, beckoning me to follow her along the landing, the courtyard on one side of us and the great staircase on the other. At the end of the landing we reached a wooden balcony overlooking the Main Hall, off which a new corridor branched.

"Here is the way to—" Mrs Marsh stopped mid-sentence, her brow furrowing, and for a moment I wondered if she were suffering a sudden pain. However, in the next moment, she withdrew a small compass-like instrument from a chain concealed in her bodice, which appeared to vibrate whilst emitting a high ringing sound, like a tiny chiming bell.

"You must excuse me, Miss Granger," said she, having glanced at the tiny object and passed her fingers over it, silencing it. "I am summoned by Milord. Will you stay here until I return, please? I shan't be long, and if I am detained I will send a maid to show you to your quarters."

"Of course, ma'am," I said, surprised by this news, since I had so recently seen 'Milord' out and about in his coach.

"You may wait in this room," she said, swiftly moving over to, and opening, a door in the balcony panelling which I had not even noticed. "There are seats, and a fine prospect of the countryside to enjoy." So saying, the lady hastened away back down the stairs, and I fancied I could hear voices coming somewhere from that direction.

Afraid to be caught loitering by a passing servant or family member, I timidly stepped into the chamber.

It was a spacious room, wide rather than long, decorated in a charmingly baroque style. Three windows framed the outside panorama, and, recognising the view of chequered fields and forest, and the odd tower-like house belonging to Squire Lovegood, I was at last able to orientate myself.

Not daring to wander too far into the chamber, lest Mrs Marsh suddenly appear and think me unduly curious, I sank down into the closest seat to await her return. It with a large 'bergère' armchair, with such high arm-rests that I felt almost swallowed up by apricot watered-silk.

I had not been sitting for half a minute when I was alarmed by a sudden disturbance coming behind a door at the far-end of the room. A moment later the door swung open, and two figures—a handsome young gentle-wizard, expensively (though somewhat foppishly) attired, and an alluring young witch, dressed in the latest Paris fashions—burst through in a tumult of masculine whoops and feminine giggles.

To my horror, the pair began to rush and tumble about the room in a shockingly immodest manner, seemingly engaged in a game of "Catch And Kiss". Despite her many little screams of protest, the young lady received her paramour's salutations with as much enthusiasm as he delivered them.

I was certain that the wizard must be Lord Malfoy's son, Master Draco, for indeed he had the same sharp, high-bred features of the wizard in the coach (except of a finer, more epicene stamp) and the same white-blond hair, though cropped rakishly short.

I felt I _ought_ to make my presence known, and yet to do so seemed utterly impossible. I dared not reach for my wand to attempt a Disillusioning charm, lest the action itself alert their attention to me. Frozen in my seat, I sat in an agony of anticipation, awaiting certain discovery, as the pair advanced closer and closer to the seat in which I cowered.

However, this was prevented by the young man proceeding to trap and pull his sweetheart forcibly down upon a ' _méridienne'_ chaise-longue, kissing her with such violent passion that I feared he might actually hurt her. Indeed, I heard the lady begging him to stop, lest they be discovered, to which the careless rake merely laughed and declared his preference for the "danger of being caught."

I had almost decided to intervene on behalf of the lady, when I was stopped by the sound of her voice, half-angry, half-laughing, but by no means distressed.

"Unhand me at once, Sir!" she cried, as her attacker pressed his avaricious lips now to her heaving bosom. "Or I swear I shall tell my darling little sister about your faithless behaviour!"

"The devil you will," replied he, "unless you wish me to enlighten your fiancé about _yours_."

The witch laughed tauntingly. "That _would_ be impolitic, since he's the better dueller."

"T'would be your own loss," he wickedly replied, "since _I'm_ the better lover."

It was all I could do to stifle my gasp at such wanton impropriety—nay, such degeneracy. But my indignation soon turned to alarm as I suddenly heard the brisk steps of Mrs Marsh treading across the wooden balcony.

In something like a madness of anxiety, hardly knowing what I was about, I sprang from my seat and rushed over to the entangled couple, warning them in an urgent hiss that the housekeeper approached.

The wizard, taken thus by surprise, lost hold of his captured prey, who wriggled out of his embrace and fled from the room the way she had entered.

A surly scowl crossed the features of the young man, who jumped up and rounded on me, looking as if he should like to strike me for my interruption of his amorous sport. But before either he or I could speak, Mrs Marsh emerged in the doorway.

"Ah, Master Draco!" she exclaimed, quickly joining us in the centre of the room. Her voice was pleasantly polite, but I was knew her sharp glance must observe his extremely-rumpled and aggravated appearance and my own manifest discomposure. However, with deferent discretion, she only said, "I see you have met Miss Granger, Sir."

The wizard continued to glare balefully at me. "Through no design of my own, I assure you," he said, discourteously implying that it had been _mine_.

"She is Miss Clarastella's new governess, Sir," the gentle-witch supplied.

At this, the young man's expression changed, transforming from anger, to momentary surprise, settling into a sneering amusement. " _Is_ she?" he said, bending a little forward, as if _nearly_ to make a bow, but in actuality to quiz my appearance, inspecting at his leisure my practical poplin dress and brown robe, my tightly-plaited hair and plain features.

Perhaps I ought to have been intimidated by him—certainly, it seemed as if he _intended_ I should—but his rudeness served only to inspire me with mutual contempt. Despite his being the first aristocrat of my acquaintance, and a handsome young wizard at that, I thought him an insufferable churl and a gross libertine. And so, instead of quailing before his stare, I calmly returned it.

Something of these thoughts must have expressed themselves in my eyes, for his own narrowed and the petulant scowl returned.

"What a drab little dormouse it is!" he declared, straightening up with a sniff. "Where _did_ you manage to dig her up, Marsh?"

Without waiting for a reply (for which there really could be none) the young man turned on his heels and stalked out of the room, slamming it after him with such ill-grace that I turned away to hide an amused smile from Mrs Marsh.

She, supposing me extremely offended, murmured, "Miss Granger, though it is not my place to apologise for the words or actions of those whom I serve, I will mention that the young master has somewhat of a... _complex_ nature and volatile temperament. Rest assured, he behaves thus to everyone—excepting, of course, his father. ...However, we must make allowances for his being young, and for having lost a parent so early."

"Indeed," I murmured. I deigned not to remark that I, who was surely younger and had lost _both_ my parents, was not given to such insolent behaviour or immoral conduct. As it appeared to me, the young man had been afforded far too many 'allowances' than was good for him.

Following Mrs Marsh out of the room, I soon recovered my excitement as she informed me that the corridor branching off from the balcony led directly to the nursery wing, which included my own quarters.

"Your chamber has been very comfortably fitted up," she told me as we walked down the long, but well-lit, stone hallway. "It is a spacious _boudoir_ , known as the Rose Room, for its pretty view onto the courtyard."

Soon we came to the end of the stone corridor, meeting with a wider hallway sumptuously appointed with wooden panelling and red carpets, and warmly lit by a surplus of lamps in brightly-polished sconces.

"The nursery is there," the housekeeper gestured to a large door at the far end of the hallway. Then she pointed out a door opposite us, with panels prettily carved with snowdrops, sea-thrifts and asters. "And that is Miss Clarastella's room," she said. "She is with her Aunt today, but you will meet her tomorrow." A few more steps brought us outside another door, this one carved with roses. "And now we are come to your chamber, Miss Granger."

Stepping over the threshold, I found myself standing inside a most elegant room. It was large, modern and airy, letting in a good deal of light through the tall windows, and decorated in a pleasing palette of pastel colours, appointed with tasteful furniture and graceful accessories.

My trunk, reticule and bonnet sat at the end of a large canopy bed, spread with a pale-green quilt embroidered with pink roses, and surrounded by gauzy pale curtains in a matching design. Compared with my tiny, dark, sparsely-furnished bedroom at my Aunt's house, it seemed like something from a fairy-tale dream.

"Oh! But how charming!" I exclaimed admiringly, almost able to forget my disappointment that there was not a sea-view.

Mrs Marsh smiled. "I think it one of the pleasantest rooms in the house," she agreed. "Another of My Lady's personal projects. I trust you will be very comfortable here."

"I am sure I shall," I replied, moving over to the window to look down upon the Rose Courtyard from the opposite direction than I had previously glimpsed it from the landing of the Main Hall.

"Well, you have only to ring, if there is something wanting." She showed me a bell attached to a long velvet rope, hanging near the bed. "A maid will be summoned if you pull that rope," she said.

"A...human maid?" I asked tentatively, wondering if I might get my chance to speak to a house-elf after all.

"Of course," Mrs Marsh replied quite sternly, as if I had broached a vulgar subject. " _All_ our maids are human, Miss Granger; the elves are not to be counted among the staff. They take directions only from the Master and, by his permission, from myself."

"I'm sorry," I said, blushing for my ignorance. "I know so very little about how a grand house such as this operates."

The housekeeper nodded, her expression softening at my embarrassment. "You will learn," she said. "I will assist you wherever possible, although in truth I have not many hours at my own disposal. But if you have any questions or concerns you may usually find me in my parlour."

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied. "That is most kind."

"You may take the rest of today to settle in," she continued. "All the rooms in the nursery wing, excepting Miss Clarastella's, are open and available for your use. There is a comfortable sitting room attached to the nursery. Dinner will be brought to your room at six this evening, and breakfast tomorrow at seven. Your duties will begin in the nursery at nine o'clock, but you may wish to arrive early and look through some of Miss Clarastella's lessons, and acquaint yourself with contents of the nursery before you meet her."

"I will be sure to."

"Does everything so far appear to your satisfaction?"

"Perfectly, ma'am."

Once again, a tinkling bell chimed from within the confines of her bodice, and the housekeeper hurriedly withdrew the little golden instrument and silenced it. "I must leave you again," she said. "But you know where you may find me, if you encounter any difficulties—although I do not anticipate that you will."

We curtseyed, and the housekeeper moved to the door. Pausing on the threshold, she turned and said, "Ah; just one last thing, Miss Granger. I would advise you at this stage to keep private the particulars of your...heritage. At present, only myself and My Lord know that you are muggle-born, and it is perhaps for the better to keep it that way." She curtseyed once more and added an affable, "Good day!" before she swept from the room in a rustle of silk.

I wandered over to the bed and sank slowly down upon its yielding depths.

My hands felt oddly cold and my face very hot. A strange feeling had arisen within me at Mrs Marsh's parting words, a kind of wounded shame and acute self-disgust. So...my tainted blood must be kept secret, _"for the better."_ It was _better_ that no-one else knew my disgraceful lineage. No-one, but Mrs Marsh...and the man of the silver eyes and cruel reputation. My master.

I gazed at the wall for some time, until I was brought out of my reverie by a tap at the door, followed by a rustle of paper as a small envelope flittered beneath the doorway and settled upon my lap. I opened it up and discovered a piece of stiff card, upon which was written a brief message, in an elegant and unmistakably-masculine hand.

 **" _Lord Malfoy desires an interview with Miss Granger in his office, at her earliest convenience."_**

…


	6. Chapter 6

I gazed at the note for some moments, an odd, tight sensation developing in my stomach.

" _Lord Malfoy desires an interview with Miss Granger in his office, at her earliest convenience."_

My pulse flurried with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. I, to see him, so soon? So ill-prepared?

I sprang to my feet and hastily removed my robe, then, espying in one corner a white, mirrored dressing table, I advanced toward it a little apprehensively. Above all, I wished to appear before my employer neat and composed, but I was afraid that this morning's adventures must certainly have disordered me.

With a pang of dissatisfaction I viewed my reflection: my hair-plaits were frayed and my dress crumpled from the journey in the Porter's cart.

Did I have time to change? What was meant by, "at my earliest convenience"? Ought I drop everything and hasten to Lord Malfoy's office? Or might I take a little time to make myself more presentable?

Supposing tardiness to be a lesser evil than unkemptness, I hastily took my wand from my dress pocket and cast a light steaming spell over my skirts. The poplin fabric—a muted shade of _caerulean_ blue—relaxed, and the worst creases smoothed out.

" _Accio reticule_ ," I murmured, catching the draw-string bag and emptying it upon the gleaming surface of the dressing table, then selecting from amongst its scattered contents a little ivory comb. Loosening my braids, I tamed my curls as best I could, then carefully replaited and secured them.

I was about to turn away, when my eye caught upon my charm-extended box of potions and essences. Quickly snapping open the lid, I took out a small vial of Rose Essence, and dabbed a little on my wrists and at my temples, as a kind of makeshift _Eau de Toilette._ I had never worn any scent before, for my Aunt had deemed it both frivolous and immoral. ...I wondered what had got into me. Why should I care so much for what impression I made at this first meeting with my new employer? What was it, that caused me to sigh at my "drab little dormouse" appearance (as Master Draco had so kindly put it), and to wish I were a little—just a very little—prettier?

I shook my head at my foolishness and turned away from my reflection. In truth, it mattered not _how_ I outwardly appeared, for nothing could mitigate the inherent taint of my blood. Although perhaps it was for this very reason that I _did_ care so much.

Crossing the room, I opened the door then slipped out into the hallway and began to retrace my steps back towards the central part of the house.

Without Mrs Marsh to accompany me, the Manor seemed to take on a more forbidding aspect, despite its modern fittings and furnishings. The corridor joining the Nursery wing to the Main Hall appeared longer and darker, and its stone walls and great flagstones revealed something of the original gothic gloom of the house.

As I emerged upon the wooden balcony and beheld that imposing mahogany door at the end of the landing, I experienced a thrill of dread, such as I never had before. Something about those eyes, connecting with mine through the coach window, had deeply perturbed me, and with each step taking me to meet the man to whom they belonged, my heart thudded all the louder within me.

I paused outside the door and attempted to calm my excited nerves with a deep, steadying breath. Then I raised my hand and timidly knocked, rather wishing than hoping that there would be no answer from within.

"Enter."

The response was immediate, and again I was beset with wild palpitations. With trembling fingers, I turned the silver handle and pressed open the heavy door.

At first I did not see the room, nor its contents. I did not even notice the deportment or dress of the figure awaiting within—my eyes were drawn as if by magnetic force to his eyes alone...those strangely captivating silver irises, glittering like ice, rendering all else an indistinct blur...

I knew not if I curtseyed, although I suppose I must have.

"Good day, Miss...Granger, I presume?"

At the unexpected silken softness of his voice I blinked, drew a breath, and everything came into focus at once: the sumptuous room and imposing furnishings, the enormous windows looking directly over the sweeping front lawn...and the man himself, as equally grand and imposing, standing in an elegant aspect near a great unlit fireplace, with one arm leant upon its marble mantlepiece and one booted foot resting on the lowest rung of its brass grate.

Lord Malfoy was dressed in a suit of black Jacquard-woven silk, comprising a double-breasted frock coat and trousers, and a silver waistcoat elaborately embroidered with a pattern of delicate green vine-leaves and lilac speedwell. From his shoulders flowed a cape of supple dark velvet, trimmed in black fur, which contrasted vividly with the sheet of blond hair that spilled over it. My inner seamstress immediately discerned and admired the exquisite tailoring and expensive cloth, even while my muggle-born inferiority shrank from such an overt example of masculine beauty, wealth and resplendence.

There was a pause, and of a sudden I realised that I had not yet made a reply, and that those piercing eyes were bent on me still, with something of an expectant expression upon his haughty features.

"Y-yes, Sir—I—I mean, My Lord," I stammered, the flush on my cheeks deepening at the unfamiliar shape and sound of this noble title on my lips. "...Good day." I dropped my eyes to fix upon the hem of my dress, wondering how I could face the son's impudence with tolerable equanimity, yet quailed within mere moments of encountering the father's cool courtesy.

"Won't you please sit down?" he said, gesturing gracefully to a seat on one side of a huge walnut desk that dominated the middle of the room.

I moved over to the chair and sank down upon it, glad to be supported by something more stable than my trembling legs. The wizard likewise approached the desk and stationed himself oppositely, in a high wing-backed chair of green tufted leather.

For some moments he impassively regarded me, his jeweled fingers lightly drumming upon the surface of the desk. Then at length he spoke. "Perhaps you are wondering why I have requested to speak with you, so soon after your arrival in my house."

"I had no time to wonder that," I blurted, then felt my stomach lurch with panic at how pertinacious such a reply might seem. But a hasty glance at the wizard only showed a polite smile on his sharp, aristocratic face.

"Just so," he replied urbanely. "I make no apologies, but I will give an explanation hereafter. However, I should first like you to answer some questions. ...You don't _mind_ my asking you questions, do you, Miss Granger?"

"No...no, of course not," I replied, trying to sound unconcerned, but in truth somewhat alarmed. "Please, go ahead."

Lord Malfoy looked rather amused at this, and once again I realised I had blundered. Of course he would ' _go ahead'_ , whenever he pleased.

"Miss Granger, what do you know of myself and my family?"

The question surprised and confused me. I had expected he would ask questions about _me_ , not about himself. "V-very little," I said, seeking refuge from my confusion in the simple truth. "That is, I know the Malfoys are an ancient family of pure blood and high rank...and that you are one of the Noble Lords of the Magic Realm. ...I know that you have a son and a d-daughter" (I stammered a little, recalling that I did not exactly _know_ this for a certainty) "and that your wife passed away many years ago."

I could not tell his expression, for my eyes were fixed firmly on my fingers, laced tightly upon my lap.

"Is that all you know?" he murmured.

"I...I believe so," I replied. "...All else is but idle gossip."

"Ah, do you make a habit of listening to idle gossip, Miss Granger?"

"No," I said, looking up from my hands to encounter his level, gleaming gaze. "But one cannot always help _hearing_ it."

There was a sardonic quality to his smile as he murmured, "I'm afraid you are right." I supposed he himself must know of his reputation as a cruel and dangerous man, and a practitioner of the forbidden arts...but only _he_ knew how much was truth, and how much wicked slander.

"My housekeeper mentioned that you had already met my son... Pray, what did you make of him?"

I felt my spine stiffen reflexively with dislike. "I did not presume to form an opinion," I said.

At the sound of his chuckle, I stared up at the noble-wizard. "Very diplomatic, indeed!" he rejoined. "Most tactful—if not most truthful. Never mind; I do not always prize truth above rhetoric."

My cheeks burned at this sting, but I swallowed the angry retort bubbling inside me.

"But you look chagrined, Miss Granger. Do you think me unfair? Please, speak freely."

"Yes," I said, rather hotly. "I do. Perhaps I should have said, 'I _dared_ not presume to form an opinion'."

He nodded, the smile lingering on his lips. "I understand you. You mean, you believe you are not at liberty to admit to having any opinion at all. However, allow me to assure you that it is not my intention to lead you deliberately into difficulty. You may answer my questions honestly, and 'dare' to form as many opinions as you please, without fear of repercussion from giving them voice. I give you my word of honour."

"Very well, My Lord," I murmured, privately thinking that, just because he _gave_ me his word of honour, did not necessarily mean I could _trust_ it.

"Then let me resubmit my question. I am genuinely interested to know your first impressions of my son. ...Did you not think him exceedingly handsome?"

"Yes; I suppose so," I replied.

"Only 'suppose so'?"

"I meant, certainly. He is very handsome indeed."

"He looks very like his mother," he said, without evident emotion. "She was a famous beauty."

 _'He looks very like you,'_ I thought, but of course I did not say so aloud.

"And yet, I sense you do not like him. Was he insolent to you?"

"...I am led to believe that he...he behaved in a way entirely customary to his nature."

"Another stroke for diplomacy! Well done, Miss Granger; although you might as well have answered, 'yes'."

"'Yes', then," I said, then bit my lip at the challenging note in my voice.

"And what of my house? Do not you think it grand?"

"I have never seen anything grander."

"No, I don't suppose you have...I'm told you hale from Turningstone village. A very quiet and proper little place. Did you have a very quiet and proper upbringing?"

I was almost certain he was mocking me, though his voice and countenance remained scrupulously courteous. I supposed I looked the very epitome of a 'quiet and proper' young female, the very opposite of the dashing and fascinating witches with whom he would be used to associating. With as much dignity as I could muster, I replied, "Yes, I did—for which I shall be always thankful."

"As you ought to be," said the wizard loftily. "It is rare that a muggle-born is given such."

I flushed at this first mention of my blood-status, and my eyes dropped once again to my hands.

"May I see your wand?"

I was startled by the request, but could see no way to refuse it. With some reluctance, I fetched it from my skirt pocket and handed it across the desk. The wizard took it from me and leisurely inspected it. It was very strange, to see my stubby little wand held by those long, bejewelled, aristocratic hands. "Hmm, red oak..." he said, balancing it on his fingers, then testing the flexibility of the point. "Rigid and fairly blunt. And the core?"

"Unicorn hair."

"Did this wand choose you?" he asked me.

"No," I replied. "It is second-hand. My Aunt gave it to me when I turned eleven. I think it belonged to a deceased sister."

"If I may?—" Without explaining _what_ he may, or awaiting my permission, he held it up and murmured, " _Prior Incantato_." My wand emitted a faint trace of light in the shape of the last spell I had used—the summoning charm I had cast on my reticule. His lips pursed slightly, then he placed the wand on the desk. I wondered why he did not give it back to me.

"Tell me," he said, levelling his enigmatic gaze on me once more, "do you remember your muggle parents?"

"N-no..."

"You do not sound quite certain of that."

"I remember my mother's voice, singing to me," I admitted. "But I cannot remember anything else."

"Do you know how they died?"

"I am told it was a muggle disease called Cholera."

"And as for _yourself_ , Miss Granger, you need say nothing. I can guess your history. ...You manifested symptoms of magic from a young age, and were accordingly taken out of a muggle orphanage and put into one for magical muggle-borns; after which you were adopted by a respectable gentle-witch who undertook your private education. ...Is not that your life, as they say, 'in a nutshell'?"

"I believe so, My Lord."

"Ah, quite the classic _'histoire pathetique'_ , as it were. Most plausible and pitiful."

I was silent.

"You make me no answer, young lady. Why?"

"Because I think you mock me, My Lord."

"Do you?—But you're quite wrong." He pushed his chair suddenly back and stood up, reaching into his frock-coat to produce a slender wand of pale elm, twice the length of mine, with some kind of silver mounting at its hilt. "I do not mock you..." he said, "...I _suspect_ you."

I had not time to process these strange words, before the wizard made a concise swipe with his wand and muttered, " _Incarcerous._ " A coil of thick ropes shot out from the tip of the baton to lash about my body, tightly binding my arms and legs to my chair.

"What are you doing?" I cried, struggling against my bonds in utter confusion and rising panic.

The wizard smiled, but it was a wintery and cruel expression, bereft of its urbane charm. His eyes were as glittering and as hard as diamonds.

"I shall cry out!" I warned, as he moved around the desk and advanced toward me.

"There is no need, if you co-operate," he replied coldly as he approached, his wand brandished before him.

"What have I done?" I gasped, wondering if perhaps his son had told some despicable fib, in order to preclude my revealing the scene I had witnessed between himself and his _paramour_.

"That," replied Lord Malfoy, coming to a standstill before me, "is exactly what I wish to establish."

"You—you g-gave me your word of honour—"

"I gave you my word," he overrode me, "that you needn't fear repercussions for answering me honestly. To that, I hold. Indeed, it is all that I require from you."

He stood, towering over me as ominously as his Manor towered over the countryside. He seemed to be inspecting me as if I were some oddity, some puzzling object that he had yet to decipher. "...You do not much look like a fearful adversary in clever _masquerade..._ " he muttered softly, "...but looks can be deceiving. Perhaps the _most_ deceptive disguise is the appearance of innocence and sincerity."

This all seemed as unintelligible to me as if he spoke in some foreign tongue. I felt my eyes prickle with tears of shock and fear. Had he gone suddenly mad? Had _I?_

"Miss Granger, for whom do you work?"

I stared up at him with confusion. "...For y-you, My Lord," I stammered. "I am to be Clarastella's governess—Mrs Marsh employed me—I have the Indenture Retainer in my room!—I will fetch it for you if you unbind me."

The wizard gazed with icy impassivity into my eyes. "What do you know of this morning's attack?"

I shook my head. "Attack? Do you mean, in Tredraconis?—the-those men who attacked me in the Inn?"

Lord Malfoy frowned. "No," he said sharply. "Do not trifle with me, girl. You know to which incident I refer."

"There has been some mistake!" I exclaimed, almost beside myself. "I do not understand you!"

He pocketed his wand, then suddenly bent over me, placing his hands on each side of my temple. I shivered, my heart thudding wildly, and my throat so constricted with clawing fear that I couldn't have screamed for help if I tried. I could not tear my eyes away from his, the glinting silver seemed to freeze and lock my pupils in place, while the light touch of his fingers scorched my skin. A subtle scent of expensive cologne coiled around me, and I began to feel rather faint, overwhelmed and stifled by terror and by the proximity of the wizard standing so closely over me.

"Please..." I whispered. "I'm only the governess."

"We shall see..." he murmured.

And then the dark pin-points of his pupils expanded, and I think I cried out, for it seemed as if his gaze was somehow pouring down through my eyes and into my mind, sifting through my thoughts, my feelings, my memories, latching onto certain moments, lingering over more recent events...my grief, fear and loneliness at my Aunt's passing...my desperate search for a new position...my subsequent relief at Mrs Marsh's offer...

"Stop, I beg you!" I pleaded, but the wizard ignored my feeble struggle to break away from his uninvited intrusion, and calmly continued to peruse and inspect...this morning's humiliating altercation with the two wizards...my warm gratitude to the young porter...my encounter with young Master Draco...

Then I felt him probe at the periphery of my nervous excitement upon being summoned to meet him, and my foolish application of the Rose Essence as a makeshift perfume—and my mortification became so acute and overwhelming, that I could bear it no longer.

"STOP!"

It was a tormented shriek; nearly a scream, and something within me seemed to burst in an agony of fury; there was a flash of blinding brightness, and the wizard was thrown backwards against the desk, while my bonds dropped away and disappeared.

I staggered to my feet and ran, my eyes blinded with scalding tears. But before I could gain the door, Lord Malfoy seized hold of my wrist and stopped my flight. "Wait—wait—"

"Let me go!" I cried tempestuously, ready to do violence to him or to myself if he subjected me to a moment more of unbearable intrusion. "I will not stay a minute, not a second, longer—I will not endure such insult, ever again!"

"Please, Miss Granger—"

"—Let me _go_ , I say!"

The wizard caught my other wrist, and trapped both hands together, but his grasp, though strong, was devoid of brutality. "I implore you to calm down," he urged, "or you will do yourself some injury."

His voice was sincere and his words beseeching, and at length I became less wildly distraught. "Let me go," I repeated, my voice choked with tears.

"I will, once you are calm."

Realising that my only means of escape would be through compliance, I desisted my futile struggles and swallowed down my sobs, though my breast still heaved with anguish. After some moments Lord Malfoy must have deemed me mistress enough of my emotions, and released my wrists. Taking a step back from me, he held out his hands, open-palmed, to show me that he intended no further harm.

"Will you take some water or wine?" he asked me, with an appearance of genuine concern. "You are very distressed, I'm afraid you may faint."

"No," I said, forcibly containing the fresh spring of tears that threatened to burst from me. "I am...quite well. Only, I wish to leave this house, and never return."

"That is understandable," the noble-wizard replied softly. "But will you permit me to at least explain, if not excuse, my behaviour, first? I implore you to hear me, then you shall be free to stay or go, as you please. If you choose to leave, I will see you are paid your full first quarter. ...Will you allow me this one concession, Miss Granger, before you positively decide to flee?"

I regarded Lord Malfoy warily, considering his words. He sounded sincere, he _seemed_ sincere, but in truth I knew not what to make of his extreme changefulness. My instincts warned me to leave with all possible haste, but my curiosity was piqued to hear his excuses.

"I do not want any pay I have not earned," I said, lifting my chin with a display of cold dignity that was not much in congruence with my violently-trembling body. "But I will hear you."

* * *

…

 _A/N Poor little put-upon Miss Granger! What a day this has turned out to be! Blondie better have a good excuse for such ill-mannered treatment! I TOLD him not to tie up the new governess and make her cry on the first interview, but would he listen to me?! What a naughty boy :D_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N:_

 _AU Note - for the purposes of historic authenticity, I am applying some of the prejudices and sexism inherent to Victorian times onto the magical realm, so witches and muggleborns are generally considered "weaker" than wizards, and their powers deemed unsuitable to certain types of magic. But never fear, our heroine will be breaking down and disproving a lot of these prejudices, once she finally finds her feet!_

 _Now, how will that cad, Lord Malfoy, account for his ungentlemanly attack on our beleaguered little governess? And will she find it in her heart to forgive him and stay? Read on to find out! :D_

 _xox artful_

* * *

...

Lord Malfoy made a slight bow at my words, then began to pace about the room. He seemed grave and thoughtful, and I sensed that he was a man not used to explaining himself or apologising for his actions, and none-too-pleased to find himself obliged to do so—especially, I imagined, to a base-born inferior like myself.

But I already determined that nothing less would induce me to stay. I might be an impecunious, orphan muggle-born, but I was also a respectable, freeborn witch. I would _not_ consent to being tyrannised by _any_ man, imperious Lord or otherwise.

I waited silently, trying to appear composed, but in actuality still much perturbed, affrighted, and rather close to tears.

By and bye, the noble-wizard stopped pacing to stand near one of the large windows, gazing out upon its view. Thus turned away from me, he commenced to speak.

"Miss Granger," said he, "You admitted before to having heard some 'idle gossip' pertaining to myself and family. ...Perhaps, amongst the many reports in circulation about us, you have heard that there have been several attempts of violence against members of this household?"

"Yes," I acknowledged, remembering Porter Weasley's words upon the subject. "Though I heard it only this morning."

" _Those_ reports, at least, are true. Within the last three months there have been numerous attacks, by persons unknown and motives as-yet undiscovered. So far, they have never breached the enchantments protecting the gated grounds, and I certainly intend that they never shall."

Despite my recent terror and outrage at his behaviour, I felt a stir of sympathy for him. To have oneself and one's family threatened with violence, even murder! What could be more distressing?

The man turned to me now, fixing his silver eyes upon my face. "Do you see where I am leading, Miss Granger?"

"I am...not sure that I do," I replied, with some confusion. "Surely, you didn't think _I_ could be somehow involved in such criminal activity? For what reason?—to what end?"

"I knew not for what reason, or to what end. But, yes. In short, I did suspect your involvement."

I was so amazed by this idea, that I actually laughed. "But I—I—I am only a muggle-born!" I stammered. "I know not a single curse or jinx!"

A smile hovered on Lord Malfoy's mouth at this admission. "A short-coming that ought to be rectified, if you are to stay," he murmured.

I found myself trembling under the ongoing scrutiny of his gaze, and at his soft voice, which, I felt, he deliberately wielded to gain my compliance. "I still do not understand how you came to suspect me," I said, mustering as cool a tone as I could manage, letting him know that I was yet to be _convinced_ to stay.

The Lord pursed his lips. "Allow me to elaborate," he said, after a moment of decision. "This very morning, whilst travelling on my estate, I received an urgent owl from my sister-in-law, with whom my daughter Clarastella has been staying until a new governess could be arranged for her care."

The mention of my little charge caught me off-guard, and my interest in the speaker's story was immediately secured.

"The report," he continued, "was of a most disturbing nature; namely, that a newly-arrived servant had been caught in an attempt to poison them. She urged me to make immediate inquiries into my own domestic staff, with particular regards to new and unfamiliar persons. ...Immediately, I thought of the young lady I had seen being carried toward my house by my Porter, who I had presumed to be my daughter's new governess."

A blush arose to stain my cheeks. _...So, the high and mighty Lord had noticed and remembered the obscure little personage he passed in his thundering coach..._

"I returned home immediately and spoke briefly to my house-keeper, ascertaining that the young lady appeared respectable and honest, but also had rather more flair for complex magic than had at first been suspected." His gaze swept over me, then levelled again to my face. "This alarmed me, Miss Granger," he said bluntly. "Knowing, as we all do, that muggle-borns are not naturally adept at magic, I wondered if I had allowed a dangerous impostor to infiltrate my home."

My flush deepened at this allusion to my innate inferiority.

"My suspicions were further roused by our interview. You looked too innocent, too much the timid _ingénue,_ your story was altogether too piteous; calculated, it seemed to me, to gain sympathy and trust. Furthermore, there was a palpable magical potency I immediately sensed in you, not consistent with your youthful appearance, nor with a muggleborn's naturally subservient powers."

I almost started with shock. _I had a 'palpable magical potency'?_

"I was soon convinced you were not what or whom you purported to be, and so..." He splayed his hands in a gesture that meant, _'you see, it couldn't be helped._ ' "...I decided to ascertain the truth myself."

"You could have used less intrusive means to ascertain the truth," I said quite sharply, surprising myself.

He shrugged dismissively. "I deemed it the most expedient method under the prevailing circumstances." He smiled again, but it was no amiable expression, and looked a little brutal. "You should be thankful I did not choose a more... _strenuous_ mode of questioning," he added quietly. A shiver spooled over me, as I was suddenly reminded that this was a powerful wizard with a reputed penchant for dark, forbidden magic.

But I drew myself up, refusing to be daunted. "Nevertheless," I said, "it was not..." I faltered at the gleam in his eyes. I had been nearly about to say _'gentlemanly'_ but I stopped short, thinking that it was not wise to insult a man so far above my station. "...kindly," I muttered instead.

"I am not known for my kindliness," the noble-wizard replied wryly. "It is one of my great failings, I suppose."

I felt vexed by his sardonic levity. Something of it must have manifested on my face, for he appeared to relent, adding, "Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, I regret taking such...drastic measures. It was precipitate of me, and distressing for you." He paused, as if waiting for me to acknowledge his _implied_ apology; however, something stubborn within me would not settle for such, and I was silent.

Irritation flickered in his eyes, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. But grudgingly, and with a haughty slant of his finely-arched brow, he said, "It was wrong of me, and I am sorry." His eyes narrowed, as much to say, _'Will that satisfy you, young chit?'_

The flush on my cheeks diffused more generally to the rest of my face, and I inclined my head in acceptance. A great tide of relief washed over me, and a heaviness lifted from my oppressed spirit. Tears again stood in my eyes, but they sprang from a different source; a well of gladness deep in my breast. _He had apologised. I would stay._

"Now," he murmured in a gentler tone, "will you forgive my actions, and agree to remain with us?—At least until you have met my daughter Clarastella. I believe she will like you very much."

He could not have hit upon a surer way to secure my compliance. The notion of _anyone_ liking me, let alone 'very much', was akin to offering me a chamber-full of bright treasure. It occurred to me that he must know this, and I felt a pang of wariness at his subtlety. However, the temptation proved impossible to resist.

"Very well, My Lord," I said, "I accept your apology. I shall stay. But—" I added hurriedly, almost terrified by my own audacity, "only with the understanding that I—I feel safe—a-and I am treated with respect."

I gulped, expecting to see the aristocratic brow to furrow and those eyes to darken with displeasure—but to my relieved surprise, Lord Malfoy's countenance overspread with undisguised amusement, his mouth curling at the corners and his silver irises agleam. I suppose he found the notion of a muggle-born naming conditions and demanding respect from her superiors, rather novel and entertaining.

"Most assuredly, Miss Granger," he replied in such a grave tone that he certainly mocked me. "I undertake personally to guarantee your safety, while you remain under my roof. And you may depend that you will be treated with the dignity you deserve." He did not elaborate on what he believed those deserts to be. But I sensed he would brook no more arguments from me, and indeed, I did not wish to make any.

"Thank you, My Lord," I said sincerely, making a formal curtsey. Sincerity was the only real defence I could have against derision, for it engaged his honour in his promise, however lightly he made it.

Lord Malfoy gazed at me a few moments longer, his expression now quite inscrutable and enigmatic. Then, with another shrug, he moved over to his desk, picking up my wand and holding it out for me to take.

I moved forward to receive it, and I was a little dismayed that my fingers still noticeably trembled as I took it from his large hand. I noticed his demeanour was far more relaxed, now that he had done with his apology and established himself back in his rightful, lofty position as Lord and Master.

I tucked the little baton into my dress pocket and waited to be dismissed.

"And so," the wizard murmured, "you really are ' _only_ the governess' after all...quite as innocent and inexperienced as your appearance outwardly suggests."

Once more my cheeks flamed, for I felt he was deriding me again. "I am sorry to disappoint you, My Lord," I said in a bristly tone.

He chuckled softly. "Far from it, Miss Granger," he replied. "Indeed, I find myself pleasantly surprised. It is seldom that one meets with a person who _is_ all that they seem to be. It is...quite refreshing."

I found myself more dismayed than flattered by his words. "Well," I blurted out, "perhaps I may surprise you again, one day." Then I winced at myself, wondering what on earth had got into me.

But the handsome noble-wizard only looked all-the-more amused. "I rather believe that you may," he replied, with a flourishing bow. Straightening, he took up his own wand and opened the door with a concise swish, effectively dismissing me from his presence.

With a second curtsey—this one hastily made and therefore clumsily executed—I turned and fled, unable to bear one moment more of Lord Malfoy's taunting smile and gleaming eyes.

* * *

...

Arriving back to the refuge of my _boudoir_ , I collapsed on my bed and burst into a storm of tears.

I believe it was a kind of fit of nervous hysteria, a bodily release to relieve the over-wroughtness of my mind. It did not last long, for I was not anguished or in despair. Indeed, I think I was actually happier than perhaps I ought to be.

My encounter with Lord Malfoy, though deeply unsettling and even terrifying, had ended more favourably than I could have dared hope. He—one of the most rich and powerful Lords of the Magic Realm—had apologised to _me_. An obscure little muggleborn, of no family and less consequence!

For a long time I lay on my bed, replaying over and over in my head the minutiae of our strange interview. I wondered why His Lordship was so intent upon keeping me in his employ, having ascertained that I was—as he had put it—'all that I seemed to be'.

...Perhaps, like Mrs Marsh, it was my very innocuousness which made me a favourable choice. Whatever it was that he had gleaned from his intrusive assault upon my mind and thoughts, he had evidently discovered something that made my services worthwhile retaining, even at the expense of having to make me an apology for his methods.

I had read about the _"Legilimency"_ spell, in one of the few novels my Aunt deemed morally acceptable for an impressionable young witch. In that example, the father of the hapless young heroine had used it to discover and foil the plans of his daughter's would-be seducer, preventing her from being carried off to a life of infamy and exile. From what I recalled, the spell was deemed only suitable to be used by powerful wizards; Veritaserum being the more acceptable method of truth-seeking for witches.

Yet despite my outrage and mortification at Lord Malfoy's unwarranted attack, I could not help but feel rather thrilled to have been deemed _worthy_ of his suspicion. The very fact that Mrs Marsh had alerted him to my ' _flair for complex magic'_ , that he had sensed in me a _'palpable magical potency'..._ it made my heart throb with a kind of fierce pride. ...I had always had within me a desire to taste the forbidden fruits of knowledge lying beyond my reach, during those long reclusive years of seamstressing and household drudgery... How often I had been scolded by my Aunt for asking too many questions, or mentioning a desire to learn spells deemed too difficult for muggleborns! Yet here was an experienced gentle-witch and a powerful noble-wizard, one complimenting me, and the other suspecting me, for my magical potential! I found myself smiling into my pillow.

I smiled again as I recalled His Lordship's assertion that his daughter, Clarastella, would 'like me very much.' ...Oh, but I did hope so!

I had always instinctively liked children, although I seldom had the chance to meet with them. The rare occasions when my Aunt received visitors with children in tow, had always been of great pleasure to me. I was far more comfortable sitting on the floor, quietly amusing youngsters with games and activities, than awkwardly sitting amongst condescending witches, performing the hollow niceties of polite conversation, wearing my inferiority like a sackcloth and ashes.

Furthermore, a little girl of four, no matter how spoiled of wilful (and there was a high possibility that she would be both, from what I had seen of her brother), would be yet too young to understand the concept of my impurity, or hold me at fault for the misfortune of my birth.

...I dwelt for some time on a pleasant kind of daydream where, through my kindness and firmness, I helped Clarastella to become a sweet, tractable child, advanced in her lessons and promising in her prospective abilities, and all the nobility agreed that I "had done wonders with her" ...and Lord Malfoy, without any hint of sardonic derision, applauded my efforts, acknowledging that I was the cleverest muggleborn-witch he had ever known...

Sighing, I drew myself up from the deep, plush bedding. _Pride goeth before the fall_ , I reminded myself sternly. It was all very well to construct such fantasies, but it was just as plausible—indeed, far more so—that I would fail abysmally, and be turned back out into the world to find a new means to maintain my existence.

I stood up and moved over to the central window-pane, looking first down at the beautiful geometric patterns of the Rose Courtyard, then across to the windows opposite, through which I could see the maids passing along the Main Hall's first-floor balcony. Surmising that I was just as visible to them as they to me, I drew the curtains.

Then, for the first time, I took a good look at my surroundings.

It really was a very lovely _boudoir_ , tastefully decorated to give a feeling of serenity rather than grandeur, but also well furnished with all the necessities of a witch's apartment.

As well as the mirrored dressing-table, there was a tall wardrobe, and a chest of drawers near the bed, upon which stood a washing basin and ewer. At the opposite end of the room there stood a round table with two chairs, where I supposed I would take my food. Next to the table was an elegant "House-witch Desk" furnished with compartments to store potion ingredients, a spinner filled with empty glass potion vials, and a set of silver paring knives. And between the table and desk stood a tall, empty bookcase.

There was a door in the back wall, which, upon investigation, lead through to a bathing room and water-closet. I was astonished and delighted by this discovery, having presumed I would have to call for a tub of heated water for ablutions, and share an outdoor privy-midden with the servants. I could scarcely fathom such luxury...a bathing room, all to oneself! It seemed almost incredible.

The remainder of the afternoon I spent unpacking my things: putting away the scattered items from my reticule into the dressing-table drawers, sorting my potions and essences into the House-witch Desk, and placing my pitifully small hoard of books alphabetically along the middle shelf of the bookcase. Then I turned my wand to preparing my new dresses with various ironing, steaming, starching and airing spells, before hanging them up in the wardrobe, and folding my underclothes into the chest of drawers beside.

I hardly noticed the time pass, until I was startled by a sharp rap at the door.

"A moment, please!" I cried, hurrying over to open it. "Hello—" I began, then stopped abruptly as I realised the corridor was quite empty. On the floor near the door was a tray, upon which was placed a large, silver-domed platter. I realised it was already six p.m. and my dinner was served.

I brought the tray in and placed it on the table, then went to my wash-basin to rinse my hands. The ewer proved to be charmed, for the water was warm and refilled as soon as it had been poured.

Returning to the table, I took my seat and lifted the lid. Immediately I was ambushed by a waft of delicious scents, and I beheld a more-than generous portion—enough for two, indeed—of beautifully-prepared comestibles, that looked like they had been apportioned from the family's own dinner.

Instead of the brown bread and plain stew or joint of meat I had been expecting, there were dainty sweetmeats and sauced cutlets, slices of game pie, and a colourful variety of buttered steamed vegetables, some of which were quite exotic and unfamiliar to my eyes. Besides this elegant fare, there was a small dish of sweet blancmange that even rivalled Mrs Marsh's sponge-cake for sugary insubstantiality, and a glass of wine mixed with spring-water, which was delightfully effervescent on my tongue.

When I had eaten my fill, I sat at table for a while, reminiscing on the many strange events of the day—the horrid episode with the Fetcher-men at Tredraconis Inn, the pleasant drive to Malfoy Manor with Porter Weasley, the confrontation with Master Draco and his _paramour_...and, of course, my terrifying and traumatic first encounter with my new employer, Lord Lucius Malfoy...

A murmur of low voices interrupted my musings, and I moved over to the window, opening the curtain a crack to peer down into the Rose Courtyard. The Manor's surrounding walls had created a gloomy well of shadows over the garden, but I could still make out two figures sitting upon the central Courting Bench, one of which possessed a head of cropped, bright-blond hair. Whether the other figure was the young lady from this afternoon, or the sister whom they both so heartlessly wronged, I could not tell.

A movement from the opposite window caught my eye. Although not yet dark, the Manor's lamps were now all lit, and I could clearly see three figures passing along the upper balcony of the Main Hall. Leading the way was Mrs Marsh, behind whom followed a footman, who carried in his arms a sleeping child—a little girl with long, golden curls falling over her face. I held my breath—I know not why, for they were not looking in my direction and could certainly not hear me—and watched them pass the row of arched windows.

In my quest to follow this trio with my eyes, I didn't immediately notice a fourth person, emerging from the great staircase. Only when he had already gained the landing and turned to look out, directly towards my window, did I recognise the tall, splendid figure of Lord Malfoy, dressed in the resplendence of evening attire. Too late, I realised I had let the curtain fall open wider than intended, and that His Lordship had seen me.

I could not clearly make out his expression, but I fancied he smiled. He made a slight, shallow bow of acknowledgement of my presence.

I ought to have coolly curtseyed or at least nodded in dignified response—something to show how unruffled I was by our earlier encounter—but instead, I hastily dropped the curtain and jumped back away from the window, my heartbeat thudding wildly in my breast.

I spent a good portion of the remaining evening dividing my time between chiding myself for my mortifying gaucheness, and wondering what on earth the following day's adventures would bring.


	8. Chapter 8

_AU notes:_

 _-_ _I won't always go into so much detail with the ritual of dressing, but I wanted to include one scene showing the laborious process that Victorian women went through in clothing themselves._ _For some of the more obscure terms, I have asterisked * and provided a brief explanation at the end of the chapter. This fic is set around the first half of the 1850s, before the invention of the crinoline cage, hence Hermione's many layers of starched petticoats in place of the cage-and-hoop that became popular after 1856._

 _\- Regarding underage magic - the law restricting this did not come in until 1875, so I'm assuming that under-17s were allowed to use magic in their homes, but only with strict adult supervision. Official training would begin when a child came 'of magical age' at 11, when their magic had stabilised enough for them to safely wield a wand. S/he would then either be sent to school, or home-schooled by their parents, or,_ _like Hermione, become something like an apprentice, receiving training for a magical trade to "earn their keep". T_ _he rich nobility would receive_ _tuition from a privately-engaged tutor._

* * *

...

I did not anticipate sleeping well that night, for I went to bed with a mind awhirl with all the strange, almost _fantastical_ events of the day. Yet mere moments after my head touched the plush eider-down pillow, exhaustion overruled all else, and I slept soundly and dreamlessly the night through.

There was a small cuckoo-clock fixed above the headboard of the bed which I had charmed to awaken me at dawn, and it was to its trilling, mechanical birdsong that I was roused from my slumber the next morning.

For the first time I could recall in my life, I experienced the disorienting sensation of opening my eyes to utterly unfamiliar surroundings. For what seemed a long time—yet was probably but a few seconds—I wondered where I was, and if I were dreaming, before memory flooded back to restore comprehension. I was perhaps even _more_ disoriented thence to recall all that had transpired yesterday, and found myself much disturbed by a vivid image arising to my mind, of a pair of silvery eyes, gazing upon me with icy inscrutability, and the echo of a silken voice, murmuring, _"Miss Granger, I presume..."_

I sat up, staring about me somewhat incredulously. The soft morning light, diffused by pale-green curtains, combined with the floral theme of the furnishings and wall-paper, made me feel like I was in some enchanted garden grotto.

An unbidden smile spread over my lips and my heart began to drum quickly and lightly with a pleasant excitement. Today, I was no longer "Hermione, the muggleborn foundling", but officially, "Miss Granger, Governess at Malfoy Manor."

Slipping from my bed, I made a circuit of the room, re-inspecting and admiring everything for the sheer pleasure of it. How came I to be here, in this lovely _boudoir_ fit for a princess? What lucky star fell over my sky, that I should awaken in this feather-quilted bed, surrounded by such luxurious affluence?

I moved to the mirrored dressing-table to take a glimpse of myself in this elegant new context. How incongruous I looked! So small and inconsequential, my figure swathed by my plain linen nightgown and frilled cotton nightcap... I ought to be a tall, beautiful gentlewitch, clad in whispering silks and gossamer lace. ...I wondered if the previous governess, Miss Weasley, had sat before this very same mirror, beholding her appearance with all the complacency that I lacked. I imagined her, in a state of elegant _déshabillé_ , arrayed in a French _peignoir*_ of pink chiffon that clung to her alabaster curves like a second skin, combing her titian lengths, smiling at her lovely reflection...

Swallowing a sigh of dissatisfaction, I turned away from the glass, mentally scolding myself for dwelling over-much on my appearance. It was a habit my Aunt had often tried to cure me of, but had rather engrained in me instead, by her almost-daily mentions of my plainness and lack of "feminine graces".

Picking up my wand from the dresser, I sought my cotton chemise from the chest of drawers, bringing both items with me to the bathing room.

I drew a shallow, lukewarm bath with my wand, using a combination of _Aguamenti_ with a light _Tepidus._ My " _Every Witch's Guide To Household Œconomy"_ warned against submerging in a hot or deep bath before noon, citing "magical distemper in the female brain" as a probable consequence.

Even with a _Colloportus_ sealing the door, I could not help feeling rather self-conscious and even a little guilty as I removed my nightdress to step into the shin-deep water. My Aunt had disapproved of the practise of daily bathing, something she felt encouraged needless over-familiarity with one's own flesh, preferring the modesty-preserving _Scourgify_ and _Teregeo_ spells with which to keep everyday grime at bay. Therefore, a bath was a weekly ritual, performed on Saturday eve in a round copper tub in front of the kitchen fire, with a muslin chemise to maintain propriety.

I washed quickly, unable to really enjoy the novelty of a private bath. I was too excited and nervous, my mind already bent to the forthcoming meeting with Miss Clarastella Malfoy. I did not have the time, nor the inclination, to luxuriate, for I wished to heed Mrs Marsh's recommendation to inspect the nursery before I met my pupil at nine.

Climbing out only a few minutes after getting in, I utilised a Hot-Air Charm to dry myself down, then slipped into my chemise before returning to the bed-chamber to dress.

I selected the best of my underlinen: my cambric drawers, knit-lace stockings and the newer of my two baleen* corsets. Securing the busks with a tightening and tying spell, I then overlaid a stiff horsehair _jupon*_ followed by six starched muslin petticoats (Aunt Agna maintaining that to be the correct number of layers; any fewer might reveal an indecent outline of limbs—( _"remember, dear, a respectable lady has 'lower limbs', not legs")_ —whilst any more she considered flaunting and excessive.

Over the corset, I slipped on my camisole and tied my wand-pocket around my waist.

Finally ready for my dress, I went to the tall wardrobe and selected the second of my poplin gowns: this one of a muted lilac hue that I felt would appeal the most to a four-year-old girl. I stepped into the garment, pulling the bodice up and carefully swivelling my wand-pocket to align with the gap in the side-seam of the skirt. I cast a fixing charm to fasten the row of hook-and-eyelets running at the back of the bodice, and a tacking charm to attach an _engageante*_ to the hem of each wide sleeve.

Properly attired at last, I incanted a _Featherlight_ over the entire ensemble, sparing a thought for all the muggleborn women who had no recourse to relieve their frames from such a burdensome prison.

Drawing one of the chairs to the white mirrored dresser, I proceeded to arrange my hair as I had yesterday—indeed, as I _always_ did—taming my unruly curls in two tight plaits that were crossed at the back and fastened at the nape. I then attached a black lace day-cap to match the black mourning trim of my dress.

By the time I was ready to _Accio_ my black leather ankle-boots onto my feet, the clock above the headboard told a few minutes before seven, leaving me just enough time to draw the curtains and brew a pot of tea, before my breakfast was due to be served.

Sure enough, upon the stroke of the hour, a sharp rap on my door heralded the arrival of food.

This proved as abundant and elegant as last night's fare—none of my Aunt's thin version of 'gerty milk*', or the greasy slices of fried 'hog's pudding' and potato cakes served on a Sunday—but a collation of light and palatable foods to choose from: scrambled eggs, fresh oysters and 'scrowled' pilchards*, slices of jellied terrine, and sugared grapefruit halves. Besides these dishes, there was a small basket of hot buttered rolls, accompanied by pots of lemon curd and marmalade, and a refreshing elderflower cordial.

It was far too much food, even if I'd had the heartiest appetite, but especially now, given the excited state of my nerves. In truth, the aromas, though delicious, made me feel rather ill than otherwise, but I forced myself to eat, reminding myself that it would not do to become faint through lack of sustenance. I partook of a few spoonfuls of egg and one roll, washing it down with a fortifyingly strong cup of tea.

When I had eaten all I could manage, I _Vanished_ the remaining food, thinking to myself that I must speak to Mrs Marsh about moderating the meal portions. I cleaned the plates and cutlery with a dish-washing spell, stacking them with the dinner things from last night. I supposed a maid would come to collect them during the day.

Before venturing out, I took one last glimpse in the glass at this 'new' me, and felt reconciled that, though neither fashionable or beautiful, I looked exactly as I ought: a neatly turned-out young witch, dressed with sober dignity, ready to earn her keep, provided the work did not degrade her self-respect.

Though my expression betrayed the agitation of my nerves and imbalance of the humors in my body, I fancied there was a certain resolve in my eyes, and in the set of my jaw. I was determined to make a success of my position. I would _not_ turn back to the life of fatiguing menial labour and probable privation, which had loomed so near, as the fate of a homeless muggle-born seamstress. I would make a good account of myself, and all who sneered and doubted might...(I latched upon a phrase I'd once heard that would have scandalised my Aunt)...they might go to the deuce!

* * *

...

Not wishing to disturb anyone still a-bed, I cast a _Quietus_ on the soles of my ankle-boots, and crept down the length of the wood-panelled hallway. Reaching the nursery door, I pressed it open and slipped inside, shutting it noiselessly behind me.

An exhale of pleasure escaped my lips as I beheld the interior. What a pleasant room it was! Light and spacious, decorated tastefully but with the whimsy of youth in mind, and well-stocked with such entertainments that I could only have dreamed of as a child. A large window overlooked the same panorama of meadows and fields I had observed yesterday, first from the Porter's cart, and then later from the chamber in which I met Master Draco.

Although the morning was overcast with clouds, the room was flooded with daylight, and retained a cheerfulness that the dreary weather could not extinguish.

I began to drift about the chamber, admiring and inspecting the neat furniture and pretty toys and objects filling the space. There was a Rocking Horse which blinked and tossed its mane, a whole couch of china dolls exquisitely dressed in witches robes and ball-dresses, and a basketful of colourful toys: spinning tops, Indian rubber balls, little tin animals &c, all of which were charmed in various ways to delight and surprise a youngster at play.

Built into the interior wall was a small fireplace, protected by a wooden screen, before which were stationed two comfortable chairs. Nearby there stood a bookshelf, filled with picture books, including, _"The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Abridged For Little Ladies", "The Complete Toadstood Tales by Mrs Bloxam",_ and _"Mother Buzzard's Nursery Rhymes For Well-Bred Children."_

On the opposite side of the room, a blackboard had been mounted, and facing it was a small, child-sized desk, evidently meant for my pupil. A larger desk stood in the corner, furnished with ink and quills; this, I supposed, was meant for my own use.

The back wall was covered with brightly-coloured pictures and prints with moving illustrations, the largest of which displayed an alphabet with rhyming couplets:

 _ **A** is for Accio, a spell to fetch and bring,_  
 _ **B** is for Billywig, be heedful of its sting!_

 _ **C** is for Cauldron, used to mix and stir, _  
_**D** is for Dragon, we mustn't anger her!_

...and so on it went, all the way down to,

 _ **Y** is for Yew-tree, your wand it may beget  
_ _ **Z** is for Zouwu, a cat we ought not pet!_

On the whole, it was a charming environment, stimulating and attractive to a child's sensibilities. How utterly different to the dingy little corner of my Aunt's kitchen, where I practised my lessons under threat of no supper; or, once I was 'of magical age', the stifling front-parlour where I learnt hundreds of complex, yet tedious, sewing spells...

This thought prompted me to seek for Clarastella's lessons, that I might determine a general sense of her intelligence and academic development.

Moving over to 'my' desk, I opened a cabinet attached to one side. As I'd hoped, I discovered inside several neat stacks of scrolls and books, which I brought out and laid open upon the leather desktop, and began to inspect.

They chiefly contained the usual childish tracings of shapes, letters and numbers one might find in the school-books of any intelligent child just beginning to learn the rudiments of literacy, perhaps a little more careful and restrained than what was quite typical of her age, but not otherwise extraordinary. Besides her lessons, there were also several folios of primitive drawings and scribbles, of flowers and animals &. all of which seemed to conform (in my mind) to the usual artistic endeavours of a child between four and five years of age.

From what I observed, Miss Clarastella was, though perhaps not _precocious_ , certainly bright and responsive. There was a studiousness to her work that suggested a diligent mind, though perhaps not an expansive imagination. If there was anything unusual to remark upon, it was an entire lack of childish caprice. Miss Malfoy was, it appeared, quite a self-controlled young lady.

Putting away the books and scrolls, I sat at the desk, looking thoughtfully about the room.

At length, my eyes fell upon a curtain on the wall beside me, drawn closed and apparently covering a window. Rising from my seat, I drew it open and was rather thrilled to discover a direct view over the sea. I was immediately captivated by this prospect, and for some time gazed out at the heaving, roiling body of water, dark-silver under a canopy of morning cloud, powerful waves crashing upon the rugged shore far below...

 _Lord Malfoy's eyes are the exact same colour..._ The thought surfaced unbidden to mind. ... _Silver, glittering...so cold and so fathomless..._

I shivered and turned away from the window. Unsure what next to do, I moved toward the door, thinking to return to my room until it was time to meet my pupil. But I had not gone three steps when a clock on the fireplace mantle-piece began to chime, and I realised that it was, indeed, already nine o'clock.

Almost in the same moment, the door suddenly swung inward, and there, upon the threshold, stood two very different personages.

The first was a little girl with a pensive face and large eyes, a most unusual colour of opalescent pale-violet. She reminded me of one of the fragile china dolls congregated upon the couch, with her fair complexion, delicate features and silky golden ringlets. Even her clothes were doll-like: she wore a white knee-length satin dress and blue ruffled pinafore, beneath which lace pantaloons met with dainty slippers of blue watered-silk. This miniaturistic impression was, perhaps, exaggerated by the contrast created by the second person who stood a little behind her, dwarfing her diminutive figure with a large and towering aspect.

The girl was, of course, Miss Clarastella Malfoy.

The tall, imposing figure was Lord Malfoy himself.

I stared, thoroughly discomposed, for I had expected Mrs Marsh or a nursemaid to deliver my pupil—and certainly not imagined to see His Lordship so soon after yesterday's perplexing 'interview'.

At length, the lord leaned a little forward, smiling (I suppose at my speechless dismay) and murmured, "Might we come in, Miss Granger?"

"Y-yes, of course, My Lord," I heard myself stammer, dropping a curtsy "—a-and Miss Malfoy—how do you do? Please come in, and—" I glanced about me in confusion, then gestured to the chairs by the fireplace— "won't you sit down?" Then I winced, realising that two chairs would not do very well for three people.

However, the noble-wizard only gave a gracious nod, and, reaching down to encase the little girl's hand with his own, he gently steered her toward the chairs.

As he walked, he took his wand from an inner pocket of his coat, and transfigured a rug by the fire into a third, smaller chair, installing his daughter upon it. Conjuring a silver trinket, he gave it to her, and, with a brief stroke of her hair, bid her in a soft murmur to sit quietly. The girl, with complete docility, began to play with the object as noiselessly as a mouse. Whether she was naturally tractable, or if she was as over-awed by her imperious father as I was, I could not rightly determine.

Lord Malfoy then turned to me, and gestured to one of the chairs, into which I practically scurried, as he assumed the other.

He seemed quite at his leisure, half-reclining with one leg extended and the other tucked beneath his chair in an elegant and easy posture. I, on the other hand, felt at a loss as to where to bend my eyes or put my hands, and resorted to fix one upon the other, as a means of occupying both.

"Miss Granger," the noble-wizard spoke, "I hope you do not mind my intrusion."

"Of course not, My Lord," I replied, still staring at my hands.

"I will not keep you long." There was a pause, which lengthened rather uncomfortably; at last, I was forced to look up.

As perhaps I ought to have expected, the Lord Malfoy's gaze was resting, rather scrutinisingly, upon my face. I felt the colour rising to my cheeks, remembering all too well yesterday's intrusive infliction of Legilimency. I was dreadfully afraid that he could read my thoughts even now, and yet all I could think was, _How exactly like the silver sea his eyes are!_

Hoping to banish this thought from my mind, I faltered out, "D-do you wish to speak to me particularly, My Lord?" At his widening smile I flushed more deeply, and hastily amended, "That is—did you wish to speak to me _about_ something in particular?"

"Indeed, I do..." he replied with suave civility, "but firstly, I suppose introductions are in order. This is my daughter, Clarastella. Clara, my dear," he addressed the little girl, "do you know who this lady is?"

His daughter looked up from her toy, regarding me with serious contemplation. "My new governess, Papa," she replied, in a high and slightly lisping voice.

"And do you recall her name, Clara? Remember, we practised it together." (I felt myself trembling somewhat at this notion, but disguised my disconcertion by attentively awaiting his daughter's reply.)

"Miss Granger," the girl readily supplied. She slid off her seat to stand, and made a careful curtsey. Immediately, I stood and did the same. I believed, for all her poppet-like appearance, that she was a serious and sensitive little girl, and I wished to treat her with the respect I felt she deserved, and hoped she might return.

"Now, Clara, do you think you will contrive to be a good girl for Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Papa."

"You mustn't anger or vex her," he drawled in a faintly-mocking tone, "or she might send you to Azkaban."

"Your father is only teasing, Miss Malfoy," I quickly cut in, for too-well I recalled the crushing weight of such a threat when I was that tender age, and I did not appreciate being associated with anything so frightening. "I should never send anybody there."

Lord Malfoy's lips curled with amusement. "Indeed? And how _would_ you see fit to correct those who do you wrong?"

"I should ask them to apologise," I replied firmly, then suddenly gulped as I realised he might think I was referencing yesterday's altercation.

However, Lord Malfoy only chuckled urbanely, though his eyes narrowed a little. "Ah—but of course," he said. "Well, we can only be thankful that you are a governess, and not responsible for upholding the unforgiving letter of the law."

"I am thankful for it," I said, unable to quite quell a challenging note in my voice. "Besides," I added, turning to my pupil, "Miss Malfoy looks like a very good a-and _kind_ girl, and not at all vexatious. I'm sure we will be friends." Impulsively, I went to her and, kneeling down, I extended my palm. "Would you like to shake hands, Miss Malfoy?"

The little lady hesitated, her violet eyes curious rather than timid. Then, slowly, she clasped her little fingers to mine. I smiled. "I'm glad to meet you," I said.

"I'm glad to meet you," she mimicked in her high, faerie-like voice.

"How old are you, Miss Malfoy?"

"Only four," she answered, shaking her head as if sorry for this sad state of affairs. "But I will be five soon."

"That is quite grown-up," I said encouragingly. "You will be able to teach me things, too, you know. We may learn from each other."

"What shall I teach you?" She looked genuinely mystified.

"Well..." I affected to give the matter deep consideration. "You can teach me the names of all your dolls. And you can tell me what your favourite flower is."

"Honeysuckle," she said promptly. "It smells nice."

"There, you see! You've already taught me something new."

For the first time since her arrival, the ethereal little creature smiled, her elfin features lighting up. I smiled in return, thinking, _Then there is a child in this fae little doll's casing, after all._

Lord Malfoy, who had been silently watching the proceedings, abruptly announced in a rather dismissive tone, "Now you may return to your chair, Clara; Miss Granger and I have things to discuss that do not concern little children."

I felt exasperated by this sudden interruption, but Miss Malfoy complied with a softly uttered, "Yes, Papa," climbing back into her chair and gaining the silver object in her tiny fingers, commencing to play quite contentedly.

Her father cast a _Muffliato_ over her, and presently began to speak. "Miss Granger, I trust you do not mind my conversing candidly with you, regarding my daughter."

"Far from minding it, My Lord, I should certainly prefer it."

"That," he said sardonically, "is a great comfort to know."

Supposing he was sneering at the primness of my reply, I pressed my lips together and was silent.

"I suppose you had time to look over her lessons?" he asked, loftily ignoring my indignation.

"Yes, My Lord," I replied.

"And—? You found her to be rather backward, I imagine? Slow-witted, and in need of instruction and discipline?"

"By no means, My Lord."

"Ah, then you have discovered she is really a prodigy. A child-genius, a paradigm of excellence—is it not so?"

Knowing that he was (in his mocking way) testing me, I replied, "It seems to me she _is_ a paradigm, milord, of a perfectly normal little girl."

"I see; a paradigm of conventionality," he said dryly.

"She is still so very young, it would surely be precipitate to affix her with _any_ epithet, other than her very pretty name."

The Lord regarded me with a quizzical smile. "Touché," he murmured. "It appears you have already taken to heart the role of protective tigress, defending her little cub."

Unsure how to reply, I was accordingly silent.

I wished His Lordship would not cast his gaze so piercingly upon my face—I was not used to being looked at by _any_ gentleman, let alone a Lord of such striking and distinguished mien. It was, I thought, rather like sitting in the intense glare of a too-bright, too-hot sun, causing one's face to burn, throat to parch, and body to become uncomfortably warm. I longed for respite, for some forgiving shade...but, also like the sun, noble-wizards were not reputed for their clemency.

Proving that analogy, it appeared that my master rather enjoyed forcing me to speak through the technique of extending the silence until it was intolerable to bear. At last, rather desperately, I said, "My Lord—perhaps Miss Malfoy should start her lessons."

"Miss Malfoy's lessons," he drawled, "may wait, for the time being."

I felt myself growing restless beneath his maddeningly sphinx-like manner. "You said you should like to converse candidly," I said, provoked into speaking impetuously. "Pray, when will you begin?"

Lord Malfoy gave a short, sharp laugh. "A second hit to you, Miss Granger," he said, his eyes still levelled intently upon me. "Do you know, I suspect you have the makings of a most exceptional dueller."

"Thank you," I said coldly, resenting his sarcasm. "An adequate governess is all I aspire to be, at present." There was a lump beginning in my throat, for it seemed to me that he was deliberately amusing himself at my expense. However, I swallowed it down, sternly telling myself that I would not allow myself to be baited by a gentleman who evidently had nothing better to do to pass the time of day than taunt his new employee. I fixed my eyes once more on my hands, and decided that nothing would induce me to raise them.

"What are you thinking, Miss Granger?" The lord's silken voice threaded through my bitter ruminations.

"Nothing, My Lord," I said quietly, refusing to look at him. "I am only waiting to hear what Your Lordship has to say."

Perhaps he sensed my mutiny, for when he spoke again his voice was gentler, and no longer mocking. "Rather than say, I have something to _ask_ of you," he replied. "You see, despite your assertions to the contrary, my daughter does in fact show signs of a certain...reticence in her development, which I should like you to monitor and report upon."

At this, I could not help but look up, much surprised. "In what way is she reticent, My Lord? Her understanding and intelligence seem—"

"I speak not of understanding or intelligence," Lord Malfoy interrupted, "but of magical capacity. There begins to be...doubts upon the subject."

"Oh! But she is not yet five! I believe many children do not exhibit their power until seven?"

"Malfoys are not 'many', Miss Granger," the noble-wizard said, with a supercilious grimace. "Our family have always manifested signs of magic from birth. Clarastella is the first exception in living memory."

"I...I see," I replied doubtfully. Then, thoughtlessly, I added, "Perhaps she takes after her mother."

This time, there was no amused expression or mocking smile to meet my rash words.

Much to my alarm, his shoulders suddenly stiffened; the grooves bracketing his mouth deepened, and his haughty face clouded with something darker than displeasure. His gaze, too piercingly hot before, now became too frigidly cold; the sun may blench, but the frost will corrode, and I, trembling like a denizen of antiquity in the shadow of an eclipse, shrank back, frozen and silent beneath this wintry glare.

But after a moment (which indeed felt closer to an eternity) the occultation passed, Lord Malfoy's daunting severity relented; briefly he murmured, "As you say," and once again seemed all suaveness and urbanity.

Taking from his breast-pocket a folded piece of parchment, he delivered it to my hand with a casual flick of his wand. "This comes from my housekeeper," he said. "It is the daily curriculum Clarastella has been used to following heretofore. You may adjust it as you see fit."

Somehow, I managed to un-clam my tongue from the roof of my mouth and reply, "Thank you, My Lord."

"I believe your trial is of six-week's duration?"

"It is, My Lord."

"I should like weekly reports on all progress made by my daughter, academic or otherwise, during that time."

"Very well, My Lord," I replied, my heart sinking a little as I contemplated before me, many more such unnerving interviews with my master. "Er, when would Your Lordship wish to—?

"I will send for you, Miss Granger," he interjected, with a dismissive wave of his jewelled hand.

Abruptly standing, he made a crisp bow, to which I hastily arose and returned.

With another swipe of his wand, His Lordship removed the _Muffliato_ surrounding his daughter and, approaching her, bid her to return to him the silver trinket. Without protest, the little girl relinquished her plaything, for which she was rewarded with a brief caress of her cheek. "I shall leave you with Miss Granger now, Clarastella," he murmured softly. "Be a good girl."

"Yes, Papa," said she.

Moving to the door, Lord Malfoy paused and turned to address me a last time. "I have taken the liberty to provide you with a small selection of reading material," he said off-handedly, "mainly pertaining to the theories of magical self defence. If, after your trial time has expired, you are engaged to stay on with us, we will look at putting some of those theories into practice."

I think I stammered out some words of thanks, but I was too much taken by astonishment to know exactly how I replied.

"I shall follow my daughter's progress with interest, Miss Granger," he said. "Good day."

Before I could so much as curtsey he was gone, the heavy oaken door firmly shut behind him.

I remained where I was, staring at the door for who-knows how long, until at length I was brought back to myself by a soft touch upon my hand. Clarastella had noiselessly approached, and was looking up at me, her unusual violet eyes serious, but not bashful.

"Shall I teach you my dolls' names, please?" she asked, with that curious formality so incongruent to her young age.

I smiled, and took her hand in mine. "Yes, Miss Malfoy," I replied, allowing her to lead me toward the couch upon which the exquisitely-dressed horde were nestled. "I should like that very much."

...

* * *

 _Text notes:  
_ _*peignoir - a light negligee dressing-gown, made of sheer material  
_ _*'baleen' corset - often known as 'whalebone', however, it is actually keratin found in a whale's mouth, both strong and flexible  
_ _*jupon - literally, the French term for petticoat; also a stiff, structural petticoat  
_ _*engageantes - false sleeves with cuffs to cover the lower arms, attached to the hem of a wide/opened/short sleeve.  
_ _*gerty milk - a traditional Cornish breakfast made with thickened milk poured over bread  
_ _*scrowled pilchards - a traditional Cornish preparation of grilled sardines, split and seasoned with pepper_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N_ _I've decided to carry on writing with quite a lot of detail, because the overwhelming response has been in favour of it. Who knew all you Lumione shippers were secretly fans of the Victorian novel? (Hahaha, actually that makes a lot of sense!)_

 _After the last chapter I had several requests to make a pinterest page to go along with the story, in order to show the costumes I've been describing._ _I will periodically update it as I go along._ _My handle on the site is "artful scribbler" and the_ _location is pinterest .nz_ _/theartfulscribe/the-governess/_

 _Hope you enjoy,  
_ _xox artful_

* * *

...

The morning passed in as pleasant and productive a way, as I could have hoped.

I allowed Clarastella to show me her various dolls and toys, and then, by way of introducing her studies, I asked her to tell me about her drawings.

My initial impression of her studious nature was reinforced as she explained, in her limited language, yet with quiet assurance, what she had intended to depict: "That is Zelos, but I forgot his tail," (later I was to discover that Zelos and Kratos were Lord Malfoy's prized deer-hounds). ..."No, it is not the sky, Miss Granger; it is the sea,"..."There is Papa's black coach,"—And occasionally, when coming across a more obscure scribble: "This one is quite bad; do not look at it, please."

With a pang of sympathy, I beheld the child's serious demeanour and stoic self-criticism, so at odds with her dollish and frivolous appearance. Though surrounded by luxury and affluence, and garbed in frills and finery, the girl seemed as bereft of the carefree spirit that ought to be the natural inheritance of childhood, as I had been, shut up with my Aunt in her dark little cottage.

I wondered how much was her nature, and how much external influence—her lack of like-aged playmates, her intimidating and (very probably) exacting father, her absent mother... her mother... How strange had been Lord Malfoy's reaction, when I had mentioned in passing this unknown personage! Why had caused him to look so severe?

I could not help musing upon the subject. The dubiousness surrounding Clarastella's true parentage was certainly mystifying, and (despite Mrs Marsh's warning to subdue it) piqued my curiosity. Certainly, her mother could not be the late Lady Malfoy, for _she_ had passed away closer to ten years ago, whilst the little girl was only half that number of years.

Watching the little creature poring earnestly over her drawings, I tried to imagine how such ambiguity could surround her birth. Could she have been the product of some passionate ' _affaire de coeur'_ that had ended in tragedy?—Or was she the accidental consequence of the kind of degrading relations my Aunt had hinted at, by way of a warning, that sometimes occurred between a man in search of pleasure and a woman in need of money? It seemed unlikely that such a worldly noble-wizard as His Lordship would be so indiscreet...

It occurred to me that Lord Malfoy might not be Clarastella's father at all. Perhaps he was, for whatever reason, concealing a transgression made by his son, and claiming it his own. Certainly, Mrs Marsh's circumvention of my question, _"To whom does she belong?"_ , and vague directives, that Miss Malfoy should be _treated_ as if she were Lord Malfoy's own daughter, gave rise to inevitable doubt.

I wondered if I should ever learn the truth of the matter.

* * *

...

At half-past ten, a maid brought in a tray for our morning tea. A fresh pot of tea was provided me, and a tumbler of milk for Clarastella, and slices of gingerbread for us both to partake of.

While my little charge was thus occupied, I looked over the curriculum which Mrs Marsh had sent to me via my master.

The week's academic lessons were quite comprehensive. They encompassed 'Spelling & Copywriting', 'Arithmetic', 'Reading & Latin', 'History & Geography', and 'Magical Theory'. These drier subjects were interspersed with more leisurely and creative lessons, such as 'Drawing', 'Scrapbook-Making', and 'Needle-Crafts'. Physical activity was not neglected, with one session of 'Gentle Walking About the Grounds' scheduled for each day. Once a week of a Friday and Saturday respectively, a Music Tutor and a Dance Master were engaged to teach little Miss the rudiments of those all-important drawing-room accomplishments, of which I (who would never in my life be called upon to exhibit) was completely bereft.

Though extensive, the lessons were of short duration and structured within a liberal framework of rest and recreation that would preclude overtaxing a youngster's strength and concentration. I saw no reason to change it for the present.

After morning tea was concluded, we took our prescribed walk. I asked Miss Malfoy to recommend her favourite place to ramble, to which she advised me (in so grave a manner that I could not help smiling) that she preferred to show me her "second best favourite", being the shrubbery.

"We had better get our shawls first, Miss Malfoy."

"No, I am quite warm."

"But if it should suddenly rain we might both catch colds and be confined to our beds, which would be very disagreeable. Don't you think so?"

Clarastella's brow furrowed, as if weighing up my words with great gravity. "I suppose so," she said at last. Then, in quite an imperious way (which reminded me very much of His Lordship) she commanded, "Ring Fleur for my coat."

"If you please," I corrected her, although privately I was glad to see a glimmer of spirit beneath so much docility.

Looking instantly abashed, she said, "I meant, if you please."

"Is Fleur your nursemaid, Miss Malfoy?"

"Yes," she replied, "she helps me to wash and dress, and makes my hair like this every day." She gestured to her ribboned ringlets, which, although rather ridiculously ostentatious, demonstrated a certain artistry of domestic spell-work.

I went to my desk by which hung two service-bell ropes, one for the downstairs staff and one for the nursemaid. This latter one I pulled, and after a minute or two, there came a knock at the door. It opened to reveal a young woman, dressed in a servant's uniform comprising a black twill dress, a white cotton apron and a white crotched cap. Yet these humble raiments could not disguise the girl's loveliness of feature and form—indeed, they only seemed to serve as a foil to the silvery blondeness of her hair, the lily whiteness of her skin, and the glittering sapphire of her eyes.

"You rang for me, mademoiselle?" the young woman addressed me, in a strong accent I supposed to be French (I recalled there was a fashion among the gentry for engaging a French nursemaid, that the youngsters in her care might gradually acquire the language). Although her voice was pleasingly melodious, her tone was actually quite cool and brusque—even a little irritated, as if I had interrupted her in the midst of an important task.

"Yes, I did ring," I said. "Are you Fleur, Miss Malfoy's nursemaid?"

" _Oui_ , meess," she said, bobbing a perfunctory curtsey. "I am she."

"And I am Miss Granger," I said, suddenly uncertain as to how I ought to address a servant in her position, below that of a governess or nursery-witch, but above the housemaids and serving staff. "I'm the new governess."

"Oh, I know zat, meess."

I coloured a little. "Well, it - it's nice to meet you." The nursemaid nodded and smiled, but again with something of an air of impatience, as if she preferred I would dispense with niceties and make haste with my directives. Apparently, she had no interest in becoming a _confidante_ of mine.

Miss Malfoy herself chimed in to submit the request. "Fleur, please to bring my red cape so I mayn't catch cold."

The nursemaid made another curtsey, and disappeared back through the door, reappearing moments later with a very pretty walking-habit of red worsted wool, lined in quilted satin and trimmed about the hood with plush ermine. As she helped Clarastella to don the garment and tie its three large silk bows, I slipped out to my room to fetch my shawl. Upon my return, the pair of them stood awaiting me in the hallway.

"Will zat be all for now, mademoiselle?" the nursemaid asked, her expression indicating she had not one moment more to spare.

"Yes, thank you, Fleur," I replied briskly, as if the manner of our interaction had never been in any doubt. "That will be all."

As the young woman hurried away, I turned to my little charge and held out my hand. "Will you show me the way, Miss Malfoy?"

Slipping her hand in mine, Clarastella led me down the long corridor, never once stumbling or skipping, but walking quite as sedately as if she were the grown-up Mistress of the Manor.

As we came to the wooden balcony overlooking the Main Hall, Lord Malfoy's office door came into sight. A sudden tremor passed over me, as unwelcome memories of my interview—my _interrogation_ , I should rather say—came flooding to mind. ...This morning His Lordship had been all suaveness and gentility, but how would I ever forget the sickening terror I had experienced at his hands, as I was Incarcerous'd and forced to yield to his Legilimency?

A clammy perspiration broke upon my brow as we neared the room. My breath quickened, yet I could not seem to properly draw the oxygen to my lungs, and a queer dizziness descended upon me. I believe if the door had suddenly swung open I should have fainted, or fled back to my room. I had not realised until this moment how deeply I had been affected by the intrusive technique. What was it, but a kind of violation and assault? _It ought to be outlawed,_ I thought grimly. _It ought to be Unforgivable_.

However, the door remained tightly shut, and soon we had passed it by; by the time we reached the top of the great staircase I was mistress of myself once more.

Clarastella's fingers gripped mine all the tighter and I allowed her to lean on me as we began the descent. How fearfully long and steep must the flight of stairs appear to such a little creature! Yet, when I asked if she would rather be carried, she firmly replied, "No thank you; I had rather walk."

Once we were safely on the polished chequered tiles of the ground floor, Clarastella led me through one of the twin archways to the vestibule; a pleasingly light room with a glazed roof, like an atrium, lined with potted plants of exotic genus. An enormous pair of oaken doors stretched from floor to ceiling, the varnished surfaces and brass fittings gleaming in the natural light flooding in from overhead.

The doors swung obligingly open on our approach, and we gained the outside world at last.

A welcome breeze swirled about me, billowing my skirts and skimming my face with its cool kiss. I paused to gaze down the wide slope of velvet lawn, able to make out the great wrought-iron gates at the bottom, flanked with hedges on either side, through which Porter Weasley had brought me yestermorn. Further afield, one could see the road wending through lush pastureland, edged by rugged coastline, with the endless sea beyond. On this coastline, far in the distance, a tiny cluster of grey buildings represented, I believed, Tredraconis village. I could not help shivering at the memory of the dilapidated state of the township, and its villainous inhabitants.

"It's this way, Miss Granger," Clarastella's voice brought me back to the present, her little fingers pulling at my hand.

I allowed her to guide me down a path of smooth pebbles, edged with a low border of buxus hedge. As we walked, I marvelled at the majestic front-facade of the Manor, far more elegant than the fortress-like back-entrance, yet perhaps even more formidable in all its stately splendour.

Eventually the path veered away from the Manor, turning into a secluded sloping avenue, crowded with beautiful blue hydrangeas, iridescent azaleas and frothy white viburnum, beneath which pretty primula peeped out in a spectrum of rainbow hues. The scents and colours of the fresh spring blooms were delightful, and I could certainly see why Clarastella was so eager to show it me.

"How lovely this is, Miss Malfoy!" I declared. "Let us wander a little way down."

However, we had not gone very far when our attention was waylaid by the sound of clattering wheels and hooves upon the driveway, presently hidden from our view by the tall-grown shrubs.

"Who has come?" Clarastella murmured. Wondering this myself, I pressed back the branches of one of the shrubs and we both peered through the foliage.

A large carriage had pulled up outside the Manor's magnificent entrance. The double doors through which we had lately come once again swung open to admit a cluster of six personages, amidst whom I readily identified Lord Malfoy's son and his vixenish paramour, and Lord Malfoy himself standing a little apart from the rest. A handsomely-dressed gentle-witch of middle years held the arm of tall, gaunt wizard with iron-grey hair; these I supposed to be the Lord and Lady Greengrass. The last figure was a young brunette with a sweet face, dressed more elegantly and less flauntingly than the other young lady. This I deduced to be Master Draco's unfortunate fiancée, the sister of the lady with whom he carried on such a wicked dalliance.

I heard Clarastella gasp. "Oh! They are leaving," she exclaimed, "I must say goodbye to Miss Astoria!"—and quite before I knew what was happening, the girl slipped from my hold and hurried back up the path, intent upon meeting with them.

Dismayed and alarmed, I called her back, and tried to pursue her, but unluckily the sleeve of my dress caught upon a sharp branch, tearing the fabric. By the time I had extracted myself, Clarastella had disappeared from sight.

Alas! When I rounded the corner, it was just in time to witness the little miss trip over her feet and fall down upon the gravel, and (finally in conformity to her age) begin to most piteously cry. I hastened to her and, crouching down, helped her to her feet, bidding her to show me where she was hurt. Still wailing, the little lady presented her palms, which were indeed badly scraped and bleeding.

Quickly extracting my wand, I cleansed and healed each hand, most agonisingly aware that I was being stared at from across the lawn by six pairs of eyes.

"Hush, Miss Malfoy," I murmured, "you are healed now—you see? It is all better; there's no need to cry."

However, the girl continued to sob; I thought, more in shock than pain.

"Compose yourself, Miss Malfoy," I said in a sterner tone, reckoning that she would respond more readily to reasoning, than to fussing and cajoling. "You do not wish the Miss Greengrasses to think you quite a little baby, do you, fretting for nothing when you are all healed and well? Come, be brave."

As anticipated, these words had an immediate effect on her, and I watched her make a rather valiant effort of swallowing away her sobs and wiping away her tears, until at length she only snivelled.

"May you kiss them, please?" she said tremulously, holding up her hands to me. I swiftly obliged, kissing each soft little palm lightly, which seemed to satisfy the girl, and she became fairly tranquil.

"You ought not to have run away, Miss Malfoy," I said gravely to her. "We could have walked together like sensible ladies, instead of making quite a big display of ourselves."

"I'm sorry," she said meekly. "I did not mean to run or fall."

"Very well; you may be excused this time, but try to remember in future not to run away from me without asking."

"Yes, Miss Granger," she replied, looking quite forlorn. Her eyes suddenly widened as they beheld my ripped dress. "But Miss Granger, you're all torn!"

In my haste to follow her, I had not had time to repair the tear in my bodice, and I quickly did so now, using a _'Fabricae Reparo'_ to weave the rent fabric together. "There," I said, "now we are both fixed up. Shall we go to bid your guests farewell?" I gestured to the small assembly, who were still gazing at us with a range of expressions, encompassing concern, amusement, haughty disapproval, and even sneering contempt. "See, they're all waiting for us."

"Yes, please."

"You won't have a sudden fit of tears?"

"No, I am all better now."

"Good girl," I said, standing up straight, and having to rather steel myself to face this daunting collection of lords and ladies.

As we approached, I could feel my face grow warmer, but I lifted my chin, hoping to give an appearance of dignified unconcern.

"Miss Granger," Lord Malfoy addressed me as we reached the periphery of the stylish throng, "I'm afraid it appears my daughter is already running rings around you."

"Miss Malfoy only wished to bid the ladies adieu, My Lord," I replied thornily, burning under such united scrutiny.

I knew not where to fix my eyes; it seemed everywhere I glanced I was met with deriding expressions or disapprovingly lifted monocles. How acutely aware I was of my plain poplin dress and meagre figure, standing before these dashing witches in their silks and feathers, and imposing wizards, so tall and distinguished! However, I endeavoured to disguise my abashment and, bending down to Clarastella, I murmured, "You may say goodbye now."

The little lady immediately went to the young sweet-faced brunette, whom I took to be the lately mentioned "Miss Astoria", and curtseyed very prettily to her. Loftily, and rather comically, she proceeded to pronounce in a well-rehearsed way, "It was a vast per-leasure to have you stay. _Do_ come again."

There was a round of murmured amusement at this drollery, and the witch stooped down to kiss the little girl's cheek. "Thank you for having us, Miss Clarastella," said she, "I hope we shall meet again soon."

The girl and witch dipped again to each-other, then Clarastella turned on her heels and came straight back to me, entirely ignoring the other sister.

I murmured, "You forgot to say goodbye to the other young lady, Miss Malfoy."

Clarastella dropped her gaze to the gravel and quietly murmured, "Goodbye." Her lip was rather downturned as she dipped a far-less-gracious curtsey. Evidently, she had no special liking for the elder Miss Greengrass.

That lady smirked, barely returning the curtsey, and quizzing me all the while with a satirical gaze. Then she turned to murmur something in Master Draco's ear which caused him to snigger into his sleeve.

Anxious to get away, I said, "Come now, Miss Malfoy, it is time to return to your lessons." Thankfully, the girl immediately complied, coming to my side as I made a general obeisance and murmured, "You will please excuse us," to which nobody appeared to take the slightest notice, and gave me the oddest notion that I was cast over with a Disillusionment charm.

As we neared the threshold, I heard the middle-aged witch say to my master, "So _that_ is the new governess, Lucius. Quite a scrawny little dowd compared to your last creature, isn't she? But perhaps it's for the best after-all. No good ever came from saucy governesses tricking themselves out like society-witches. A paid subordinate ought to know her place. I hope you may have more success with this one."

"As do I," drawled His Lordship.

" _I_ think her frightfully plain," the voice of the elder Miss Greengrass rang mockingly out, made deliberately audible, I doubted not, for my benefit. "No wonder little Missy ran away from her."

There was a round of tittering, and, unable to bear overhearing another word, I hurried Clarastella inside, my cheeks and ears burning, and my mind playing over and over all the epithets and adjectives that had been used to describe me since my arrival. _...Scrawny little dowd...A drab little dor-mouse...Quaint girl...Timid ingénue...Frightfully plain..._

I knew not if I despised the words more because they were unkind, or because they were true.

* * *

...

The remainder of the morning passed tranquilly, although the deriding words and scorning glances of the departing noble-mages lingered rather sorely in my mind.

However, I reminded myself that it mattered not what these sneering aristocrats thought of me; I had nought to do with them; my duty was to the little girl whose care I was employed to oversee. _She_ cared not that I was poor or plain; she had accepted me from almost the first moment of our introduction, and it was on her alone I would apply my efforts and expend my energy.

I continued to go over Clarastella's books and scrolls with her, asking her general questions and broadly conversing on each subject, the better to glean her academic strengths and weaknesses.. The more time I spent with the girl, the more interesting and likeable I found her; her intelligence was keen, her temper habitually serene, and she as seemed anxious to earn my approval, as I was to gain her trust.

At half-past twelve, the maid who had served us morning-tea reappeared and showed us through to a small parlour adjoining the nursery, containing an oval table abundantly laid with an elegant spread of cold luncheon. A full hour was allotted to this repast, and I, having at last recovered something of an appetite, ate well and with enjoyment.

Miss Malfoy's table manners were already well cultivated; there was no wriggling or protesting or undue mess; indeed, whenever she occasionally spilled a little sauce upon her napkin she looked most displeased, and would proceed to quietly scold herself, until at last I advised her that it was quite allowed for children to spill upon their napkins, and she ought only to chide herself if she happened to spoil her dress.

"Even grown-up witches and wizards sometimes spill upon their napkins, Miss Malfoy," I told her. "It is why napkins are there, after all."

She regarded this piece of news dubiously. "Even my Papa?" she asked.

I kept in check a smile which threatened to surface. "Yes," I replied seriously. "I daresay, even your Papa."

After luncheon concluded, we continued through the afternoon with our informal lessons, until at last the clock showed the approach of four, when Clarastella's nursemaid was to take her off my hands for the evening. Like me, the girl would usually dine in her room, unless called to join the family for some special event.

Ere we parted, we made our formal curtseys and bid each other good evening.

"It has been an enjoyable day, Miss Malfoy, has it not?"

"Yes," she replied. Then, hazarding a difficult word, "Exceed-ed-ly."

I smiled. "Exceed- _ing-_ ly, indeed," I gently corrected her. "If we continue this way, I think we shall be good friends. Should you like that?"

"Yes, please, Miss Granger."

"So should I. There, let's shake hands again. I hope you have a pleasant evening. When do you go to sleep?"

"At six o'clock," she said. "But when I'm five, I may go to sleep even _more_ later." (As if to impress me with the exceptionally late hour of her current bed-time).

"And what do you usually do, after your dinner?"

"Look at my books and play with my dolls. Sometimes, Fleur tells me a story, if I promise not to call for her when I'm in bed."

"I see. Do you say goodnight to your Papa before you go to sleep?"

"No, he is too busy to attend little children." She said so with such self-effacing earnestness, as if repeating oft-spoken words, that I felt a twinge of anger at the insensitivity of adults for the finely-wrought sensibilities of children. All too well could I imagine Clarastella asking if she might see her Papa, and the answer invariably being given to her, _"No, Miss Malfoy, you can't expect your father always to notice you: you are but a little child, and he a great and important Lord. He is too busy to attend little children."_

"I suppose your last governess, Miss Weasley, would come to bid you goodnight?"

"No," said Clarastella, without elaboration. But of course, I recalled that Miss Weasley had "dined with the family every night", and would likely have been making her preparations of dress at this time.

"...Then, only Fleur wishes you goodnight, when she turns out your lamp?"

"No; the lamp turns out on its own."

I felt my colour rise with further indignation at this revelation. "Doesn't _anyone_ come to say goodnight to you, Miss Malfoy?"

"No." There was a wistful dejection in her eyes that smote my heart painfully. I wondered at the selfishness of those people who could suffer a little motherless child to go to sleep without offering so much as a token of affection to bring the soundness of security to her slumbers. Even I, muggleborn orphan that I was, had received a nightly kiss on my brow, and my Aunt's best wishes for a peaceful sleep.

At this moment the clock chimed the hour, and exactly on time, the nursemaid arrived at the door, curtseying to us both upon entering. She seemed less hurried and harassed than before, yet rather dreamy and still somewhat removed, as if her mind was occupied on pleasanter subjects than her duties at hand.

"Are you ready to go, Meess Malfoy?" she addressed Clarastella.

The little girl turned her violet eyes to me. "Am I dismissed, Miss Granger?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss Malfoy, you may be dismissed," I said. Then impulsively, I added: "I shall come at six o'clock to bid you goodnight."

For this, I was rewarded with a smile of pure delight. However, the nursemaid's dreamy expression left her, and she glanced sharply at me. "Zere is no need, _mademoiselle_ ," she said. "I always put 'er down to bed."

"Nevertheless," I said firmly, even brusquely, "I shall come."

The nursemaid did not seem too pleased by this news, and I wondered if she were really attached to the girl, and jealous for her affection, or if there was a different reason for her displeasure. However, her expression soon smoothed, and she nodded with a show of compliance. "Of course, as you weesh it, _mademoiselle_ ," she said. Then the two of them departed.

During the next hour, I was (in abidance to Mrs Marsh's schedule) to put the nursery back into order and prepare for the following day's lessons; I did so accordingly, setting to rights the furniture, toys and books, although there was little enough to do with such a neat and quiet child as Clarastella had proved herself to be.

Then I sat down at my desk and commenced to make annotations to the three primers that Clarastella would be utilising tomorrow, marking in the columns where I thought extra attention might be required, and underlining certain passages which seemed of particular use or import.

When I had done with my task, I returned to my boudoir, my mind full of the day's events.

...


	10. Chapter 10

I was so entirely preoccupied that, once I gained my room, it was with sudden surprise that I beheld a stack of books sitting on the dining table. Immediately, I recalled Lord Malfoy's mention of furnishing me with a selection of reading material, _"pertaining to the theories of magical self defence..."_

Immediately a thrilling excitement flooded through me, and I hurried over to inspect the tomes.

I might have been gloating over a pirate's hoard of glinting Galleons, so precious and beautiful did those books seem to my eyes. I ran trembling fingers down the spines, reading the gold calligraphy of the titles embossed upon handsome leather of varying vivid hues.

 _"A_ _Compendium of Common Curses & Their Counter-Actions" ... _" _An_ _Encyclopædia of Duelling Terms" ..._ _"Code Duello: The Art of Honourable Engagement" ..._ _"Basic Hexes for the Busy & Vexed" ... "Jinxes for the Jinxed" ... __"Self-Safeguarding Spellwork For Gentle-Witches" ..._

Sinking upon the chair, I was soon totally immersed in reading the introductions, flicking through the pages, skimming the texts, gazing at the pictures and sequentially numbered ' _Figures'..._ and heartily wishing there was a way to imbibe such a store of knowledge like a draught, in one great swallow.

There was a thrumming warmth within my body; my pulse raced and my blood coursed with feverish exhilaration. My fingers twitched and grew hot, as if (independently of my will) they wished to curl about my wand and begin to practice the illustrated movements, and it was all I could do to keep my lips sealed and tongue still, and not let them form into the shapes of so many strange, wonderful, new words.

Mere seconds seemed to have passed when the cuckoo-clock suddenly chimed six o'clock, startling me from the deep preoccupation into which I had fallen.

 _Clarastella!_ Chiding myself, I jumped to my feet and hurried to the door, nearly tripping upon the mahogany dinner tray left for me upon the threshold. Levitating the laden tray, I deposited it amongst the books crowding the surface of the small dining table, then, closing my door, I swiftly traversed the short distance to Clarastella's bedchamber.

I lightly tapped upon the door. "Miss Malfoy?" I said softly, fearing she might already be asleep. "It is Miss Granger. Are you still awake?"

"Yes," came the prompt reply. "Come in, please."

The lamps were already extinguished, but I lit the nearest one with a _Lumos Lucerna._ The soft light revealed my little charge in her cot, swathed in layers of quilted-satin bedding, by which her slight figure was almost entirely engulfed. Her elfin face was framed by a frilly lace night-cap, under which her golden curls were carefully contained. Her large lilac eyes seemed nearly silver in the low lucency, and, for the first time since meeting her, I believed I could see a real resemblance to her purported father.

"What a pretty room this is, Miss Malfoy!" I said, noticing the exquisite décor. Indeed, 'pretty' was quite an insufficient word to do it justice. I had thought my own boudoir good enough for a princess, but this one put it positively to shame, appointed with furniture of ivory and gold, and upholstered throughout with frothy volumes of white Chantilly lace. After a moment of looking about me, I felt a strange sense of vertigo, as if I were looking down from an unnatural height, until I realised that every item of furniture—the couches, dressers, wardrobes, chairs, even the lamps on the wall—had been scaled down to child's-size.

It was, I thought, rather like entering a beautiful little play-house.

"I'm sorry I am late," I murmured, coming to kneel beside Clarastella's cot. "I was reading and quite forgot the time."

"It doesn't matter," said she.

"But it does matter," I replied. "What one has promised, one must always perform."

"Oh, yes. But I knew you _would_ come."

I smiled at her simple faith in me, so lately a complete stranger. "And are you quite settled and comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you."

"That is good. We have much to do tomorrow, and shall need our wits about us. We must both get plenty of sleep."

"Yes...except, sometimes I cannot sleep."

"Indeed? Is there something the matter?"

"Not the _matter_... Only, sometimes there are voices."

I know not why, but a cold, creeping feeling came over me, raising a prickle of goosebumps on my skin. "But that is only a dream, Miss Malfoy," I said.

The little girl's solemn eyes fixed on my own. "No," she said earnestly, "I'm as awake as—as I am now."

"Well, perhaps your nursemaid, Fleur, sometimes has a visitor." I thought it entirely possible that she, beautiful young woman as she was, would have regular 'company'.

"It isn't Fleur," Clarastella insisted. "Fleur's room is _there_ —" (she pointed to a door at the far end of her room) "—but the voices come from the sea."

A second shiver spooled over me. "Well," I said lightly, "—Let me look outside."

I rose and went to the window near the end of Clarastella's bed, opening the curtains and peering out. The vista was the same as the one from the nursery, overlooking the great expanse of sea. All was still and serene, the sun just beginning its descent behind a thin veil of distant cloud.

But just when I was about to turn away, my attention was captured by a movement far below. A figure—it appeared to be a man, dressed all in black, wearing an old-fashioned tricorn hat—was descending the steep, rocky side of the tor leading down to the sea-shore. I wondered who he could be, and what business he had within the grounds of Malfoy Manor. However, I supposed he must have permission to be there, for the Manor's protective enchantments would surely keep out any unwelcome intruder.

"There is nothing there tonight, Miss Malfoy," I said, pulling the curtain back into place. "Most likely, it is only the wind that makes such sounds. I'm certain it is nothing to fret about. You know your papa is a great and powerful wizard, and he has made this house the safest place in the world for a little girl like you to sleep in."

As I spoke, I could not help thinking that I did not quite state the truth: for indeed it seemed the very fact of Lord Malfoy's being a 'great and powerful wizard' had earned him dangerous mortal enemies that he, perchance, would not otherwise have.

"Now," I continued, "you shall dwell no more on such fanciful things. I want you instead to think of where we shall walk tomorrow, and which of your favourite books you shall show me. Will you do that, Miss Malfoy?"

The little girl nodded, and I could tell by her expression that she was already giving the matter full consideration.

"Good girl," I murmured, patting her quilt and firmly tucking the sheets, in the comforting way I recalled my Aunt had done when I was a small child. "Now, I shall wish you a sound slumber and pleasant dreams."

I stood, and moved back to the door, taking out my wand in preparation of extinguishing the lamps. "Goodnight, Miss Malfoy," I said.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger," she replied. "I am glad you are come."

"Yes...and so am I," I said. And it was the truth.—For, whatever strange and disturbing incidents had occurred since my arrival, whatever the feelings they had occasioned in me: fear, excitement, discomfiture, awe, curiosity—at least I had begun to _feel_ , and consequently, to feel _alive_ , for the first time in my life. And perhaps the strongest feeling of all was the instinct to care for this little girl, for it seemed no-one else cared overmuch for her.

I extinguished the lamps with a wave of my wand, and softly closed the door.

* * *

...

Returning to my room, I discovered upon my dinner-tray a note from Mrs Marsh, requesting my presence in her room at eight-o'clock, if I was unengaged. I supposed she wished for an account of my first day. I had the best part of two hours to fill in, and I spent it picking at my dinner whilst avidly looking through my new books, though I kept a close eye on the time, determined not to be tardy for _this_ appointment.

When at last the designated hour approached, I descended and made my way to the Servants Quarter; however, before I reached Mrs Marsh's office, I met her hastening along the service corridor.

"Ah, Miss Granger," said she, "I'm terribly sorry, but we shall have to postpone until tomorrow. I've just this moment had word that one of the maids has injured herself, and I'm going to her directly."

"Of course, ma'am, please don't let me keep you one moment!"

Nodding graciously, the woman swept past me and hurried away.

Just as Mrs Marsh disappeared around the corner it suddenly occurred to me that I might be of some assistance, for the Healing Arts were one of the few in which my Aunt had well-versed me.

Dashing after her, I saw the housekeeper passing through the great door in the back wall of the Main Hall, set between its carved oak panels of hunting scenes. I didn't like to call out, in case I should either waylay her progress, or call attention from some other quarter, so instead I followed her steps, hoping to catch up with her.

Alas, all too soon I had not only lost her trail and whereabouts, but obfuscated my own.

I found myself (much to my alarm) in an unfamiliar corridor with so many doors along it, I knew not which one I had come through, for it had closed behind me and looked identical to the rest.

My heart hammered in my throat as I imagined being discovered by someone, and accused of prying. What if I should run into His Lordship? Dreadful thought!

I decided to try one door which I thought might lead me back whence I came. But the moment I turned the handle and pressed open the door, I found that I was mistaken. The chamber was low-lit and gloomy, and when my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I realised it was a Billiards Room—and that it was not unoccupied.

At first I thought the figure bending over the table, cue in hand, to be Master Draco, for the first glance I had was of a tall, slim physique, and expensive, dandyish clothing. But, as the man straightened up, I realised he was darker and taller than the Malfoy heir—perhaps as tall as my master, though less robustly moulded. His features were high-bred and distinctive, though not classically handsome, with cool blue eyes and hair of a dark bistre brown which fell over his brow in the fashion usually called "engaging."

I placed him to be of a similar age to Master Draco and wondered if he were a friend or relation.

It was too late for me to retreat, since the gentle-wizard had noticed my appearance and turned to face me. He regarded me without apparent surprise, through low lids, a half-smile curving his lips. There was a raffish, lounging aspect to his posture which seemed indicative of a man who preferred languorous, rather than energetic, pursuits.

His expression was neither suavely enigmatic like Lord Malfoy's, nor insolently petulant like Master Draco's, but rather a mixture of facetiousness, indolence and conceit, as if he found the world vaguely amusing, but himself the most amusing of all.

"I-I'm sorry to intrude," I stammered, "but I have lost my way."

"Oh, but have you, indeed?" said he, in a drawling tone to match his _blasé_ smile. "How immeasurably unfortunate for you. Shocking to a degree."

I hardly knew what to make of this speech. The words seemed satirical, but were delivered quite politely, though lazily, and I found myself blushing with confusion. "Er...would you be so kind as to direct me toward the Main Hall?"

"It would be a prodigious honour; I _live_ for such distinction." He passed a hand through his dark hair in a careless manner. "If you'll only be so ineffably kind as to enlighten me as to whom I speak?"

"I am Miss Malfoy's new governess," I said, withholding my name, I knew not why.

His eyebrows raised a fraction. "Miss Malfoy's new governess!" he repeated. "A learn-ed lady! A veritable Minervan goddess in our midst! How amazingly extraordinary. Supremely admirable." Then, as if demonstrating that it was anything _but_ , he turned back to the table and resumed his play.

I watched him for a full minute before hazarding a comment, for I could not make out if he was being outrageously impudent, or if he were a little "eccentric of mind", or merely wished to finish his game before he assisted me. Finally stirring, I murmured, "Sir? If you are at present too busy—"

"Busy?" The wizard, still bent over his cue, turned his head to fix his eyes on me. "Perish the thought, madam! Perish it, and set it ablaze, and offer it in ritual sacrifice to Hades. On the contrary, I am, as you see, all at my leisure."

I began to grow impatient of his ostentatious (though somewhat amusing) manner of speaking. "Then, perhaps, Sir," said I, "if you would only show me the way to the Main Hall—"

"Upon my honour, nothing would exalt me more, Miss Governess," he replied. "It would be the source of the most superlative gratification. Superlative in the extreme."

But despite his words, he once again turned back to his game and levelled his cue. This time I doubted not that he was, indeed, making a mockery of me. I longed to say something cutting; I imagined Miss Weasley putting the man in his place with a sarcastic witticism; however, I could think of nothing, and ajudged it better to simply leave, than to rise to the insult.

However, as I turned to exit, the young man suddenly spoke up again.

"You are not leaving so soon, Miss Governess? Fickle lady! I thought we had an understanding."

"No," I said coldly. "An understanding can only arise where both parties speak intelligibly and sincerely. You, Sir, do neither."

"Oh, horrid cruel!" exclaimed the wizard, with a provoking simper. "She wounds me! I am killed! A little governess with the aim of Artemis!"

"First I am to be Minerva, now I am to be Artemis," I said, now really angry at being made, yet again, a figure of ridicule. I had tasted quite enough of that for one day. "And you, I suppose, think yourself Momus."*

This caused the young man to burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. "Immeasurably well said," he declared, when at last he had recovered himself. "I would take my hat off to you, if I happened to have it on."

He now cast aside his cue and advanced toward me; evidently, I had at last secured his attention. With a smile that seemed both charming and calculating, and put me rather in mind of a fox, he executed a courteous bow. "Lord Nott at your service, Miss—oh dear me, what _is_ your name?"

Somewhat unwillingly, I murmured, "Miss Granger," and curtseyed in return, though I was still rather divided between resentment and amusement at his outlandish behaviour. However, I had not time to decide the matter either for or against him, for a new voice rang suddenly out from along the corridor.

"Who the devil are you talking to, Nott, you incurable drate-poke?"*

The voice was soon followed by the person to whom it belonged—to wit: one Master Draco Malfoy.

Upon setting eyes on the two of us, he sneered in a most unpleasant way. "Oh, you've caught the little dormouse, I see! Pray, did you use tallow for bait, or did you scatter crumbs?"

My colour deepened. "Lord Nott was just about to show me the way to the Main Hall," I said with as much grave dignity as I could summon. "I'm afraid I lost my way. The house is so very big."

"Irrefragably true!" Lord Nott said in his peculiar drawl. "It is an abominably large house. Monstrous to a degree." Then, presenting his arm for me to take, he said, "Will you allow me, Miss Granger?"

"Nott!" barked Master Malfoy sharply, startling me.

"Oh, come on, old boy," said the young Lord reproachfully, though he dropped his arm and took a backward step. "My chivalric soul fairly _aches_ to assist a young lady, languishing in distress."

"I'm certain it does," Master Draco replied, with another nasty smile. "Though, frankly," (looking me disdainfully over) "I cannot see the appeal."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Malfoy. You have not a poet's subtle sensibility. You admire the gaudy hot-house bloom; I prefer the little winter bud."

"Indeed, I've seen you pluck your fair share of them, My Lord Poet," Master Draco returned dryly. "And if it were up to me, you could play the cat with your little mouse, to your heart's content. ...But you know that my father has forbidden it."

"Of course," replied Lord Nott with a taunting half-bow, "we must unfailingly conform to whatever _daddy_ decrees."

This prompted a long stream of invectives from the blond wizard, the most of which (thankfully) I could not understand. While he swore and stormed, his friend only smirked in his idle fashion, and even yawned on occasion.

Meanwhile, I stood silently in my place, heartily wishing I had never come after Mrs Marsh. How I longed to be in my room, reading my new books! Instead of wasting my time with these foppish coxcombs, being subjected to the kind of language not fit for female ears!

"Have you quite done?" asked the young Lord, when Master Draco's wrath had at last run its course.

"Yes, you poxy popinjay," snarled he, "I have done for now."

At this interval, I spoke up. "Sirs," I said, in a tone not unmixed with sarcasm, "I shall infringe upon your _gallantry_ no longer. I believe I remember the way back, after all." So saying, I dropped a brief curtsey and escaped through the door.

However, much to my surprise and chagrin, Master Draco pursued my steps, and had soon gained the lead of me; suddenly rounding on me, he stopped me in my tracks.

"Sir—!" I exclaimed, rather alarmed at his glowering expression and aggressive stance.

"One word, Miss Granger," said he, in a tone that implied it would be unwise to refuse to hear him.

"Yes, sir?"

He paused momentarily, as if deciding how to proceed. Then, with another sneer such as I was becoming quite familiar with, he said, "I would be vast obliged, _madam_ , if you would keep out of the way of my friends when they happen to visit."

"Nothing would gratify me more, sir," I replied caustically.

He took a closer step, as if to intimidate me. Refusing to be thus daunted, I stayed my ground, and Master Draco's eyes narrowed, his mouth down-turning at the corners. "I know not why my father thinks you merit the distinction of his protection. But I will not be held accountable for difficulties arising from your own deliberate actions. Do you hear?"

"I hardly think getting lost can be called a deliberate action, sir."

He gave a sharp, scoffing bark of a laugh. "Ha! Aye, madam, I know enough about penniless young ladies who are always getting lost. Invariably, they lose themselves whenever a gentlemen of fortune happens to be nearby."

For several moments I could not speak, so enraged was I by so vulgar, so insulting, so _insinuating_ , an aspersion. Master Draco smirked complacently, as if deriving much satisfaction from my outrage.

Finally managing to speak (though my voice shook with ire), I said, "Be so good, _sir_ , to direct me to the Main Hall."

Taking out his wand, the blond wizard swiped it, causing one of the doors near the end of the corridor to fly open. "Follow it to the end, Miss Granger." So saying, he turned on his heel and stalked away, without so much as a civil nod of departure. "Take care not to lose yourself again," he said over his shoulder, "or I'll not be answerable for the consequences."

Angry and atremble, I found my way back to familiar ground, and returned to my room with far less composure than I had left it.

* * *

 _..._

Mrs Marsh did not summon me back that evening. Instead, I received a polite note deferring our meeting until Friday. It concluded, " _...If you should require anything to contribute to your comforts meanwhile, do not hesitate to apply to me._ _With kind regards,_ _Mrs Marsh."_

I was not sorry to have the meeting thus postponed, for after my unsettling encounter with Master Draco and Lord Nott, I was not so composed as I would wish to appear before the sharp-eyed housekeeper, whom, I doubted not, must notice my vexation. For I _was_ vexed. How dare that—that _insolent_ cad cast his despicable aspersions upon me? As much as declaring to my face that I deliberately set my cap at his foppish friend!

And as to that friend—what meant _he_ by his strange and impudent manner? At one moment ignoring my request for assistance, at the next all obsequious attention? I did not trust his disarming smile or amusing style of speech, for indeed, when I looked back upon it, I thought that _"his rattle warned me of the snake"_. I would certainly take care to avoid his company in future, if he proved a frequent guest in this house.

Eventually, my roused choler subsided. Though the insult had stung, the pain was lessened by Master Draco's revelation that his father had put me under his personal protection. It appeared that Lord Malfoy indeed meant to honour his promise to guarantee my safety and respectful treatment. The pile of books now scattered upon my table seemed to confirm it.

It was not long before I was again immersed within the pages of these precious volumes, and there I remained until it was time to retire to bed, sparing not one further thought on the churlish young noble-wizard or his eccentric friend.

However, as I settled down into my bed and waited to be transported into sleep, I could not help but dwell a little upon my impressions of His Lordship.

What a tangle of conflicting notions I already had of him, though I had only met him twice! Innately haughty and commanding, as one would expect a man of his elevated standing...yet he did not seem a despotic man, nor particularly ill-natured. His frightening use of force on our first meeting, was rather owing to the alarming circumstances such as he had related to me, and did not, I thought, stem from a natural inclination to violence. Since that incident, he had treated me with a civility I had not expected to one such as myself. Certainly, his manner was changeful; capricious, even—by turns, charming, mocking, sardonic, supercilious—but never transgressing the bounds of courtesy, (unlike his son!). ...Yet I could not call him polite. His gaze was too direct and demanding, requiring much, whilst volunteering nothing. His smile was at times as quizzical as his words were double-edged. He seemed...impervious. Like a beautiful marble statue, breathed to life. I wondered if he ever lost his temper; or if indeed he had one to lose...

An enigmatic, unaccountable man... But then, I knew so little of the nature of men, let alone rich and powerful noble-wizards; perhaps it was simply the way of the elite. Perhaps, when there was nobody above you to hold you to account, it was natural to be unaccountable.

...

* * *

 _Text notes:  
_ _Momus: the Greek god of mockery and satire  
_ _Drate-poke: a Victorian insult for a person who drawls or speaks indistinctly_

 _So...what did you think of Lord Nott? I styled him after one of my favourite fictional cads, Sir Sedley Clarendel from Frances Burney's 1796 novel "Camilla". I hope you enjoyed reading him as much as I enjoyed writing him!  
_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N Thank you everyone, for your ongoing support! I'm so excited and grateful for every_ _comment, follow and fave. Sincere apologies to those of you who are hanging out for an update of Belonging To The Fog - I'm just having to follow my muse at the moment, and she is not in the right head-space for all that angst and violence. She is, however, enjoying her foray into historical romance! So let's indulge her some more, shall we?_

 _Hope you enjoy the next chapter._ _I would love to hear from you all :)_  
 _xox artful_

* * *

...

If the first two days since my arrival at Tredraconis had been somewhat tumultuous, the following two proved far more serene.

I saw neither Lord Malfoy, nor Master Draco, nor indeed _any_ personage not counted among the staff. Considering the dimensions of the vast Manor and its extensive grounds, and my own comparatively limited share of it, this was not to be greatly wonder at. The men could have removed to town, for aught I knew, and I would have been no wiser for it, for the servants volunteered no information, and I did not venture to inquire.

But, truth to tell, I was glad to find myself left to my own devices; my nerves should have been far more agitated were I obliged to regularly receive the company of my master, or to actively avoid that of his son.

Clarastella continued to demonstrate a tractable and teachable nature, and I had to do this justice to her previous governess: she had established a firm foundation of rudimental knowledge, upon which I might easily continue to build. I believed Miss Weasley must have been a good tutor, but I had yet to discover any signs that my little pupil grieved her sudden departure.

On one of our morning outings (this time to the coach stables) I gently sounded her upon the subject.

"Did Miss Weasley often bring you this way, Miss Malfoy?" I asked, as we walked hand-in-hand along the pebbled driveway.

"Sometimes," said she. "But mostly she liked to go to the lily-pond."

I wondered where the pond might be situated, for I had not yet seen it myself. "And are you sad that she has gone away?"

"Oh, yes," Clarastella replied. "She was so pretty, like Miriam," (one of her dolls) "and I liked her hair. It was red as my cape!"

I did not discern any sign of real distress in her voice or expression, and this gave me courage to continue questioning. "Were you very good friends with her, Miss Malfoy? Did you love each other very much?"

"I...think so," she said slowly. "At least, a little bit I did. ...But, I don't think she loved me."

"Why do you say so? I hope she wasn't unkind to you?"

"No; only, she didn't talk to me much, except to teach my lessons." She looked thoughtful. "I don't think she likes little girls."

"I'm sure she liked you very much," I said firmly.

"Not _very_ much," Clarastella insisted. "She liked my brother more. He made her laugh."

I was a little alarmed by this sudden turn of direction in our conversation. I could not but wonder how Clarastella came to know that her brother made Miss Weasley laugh. Had he accompanied their walks, or paid regular visits to the nursery? ...But recalling Miss Marsh's warning not to pry too much into the particulars of Miss Weasley's departure, I did not indulge my curiosity, and quickly steered the conversation away from Master Draco.

"I don't think you laugh very often, do you, Miss Malfoy?"

"Not ter-er-ibly often."

"Nor I," I admitted. "However, it doesn't do to be too serious. A child should be merry, at least some of the time."

"I shall try to be more merry," she said, with the utmost gravity.

Smiling, I lifted her up to pat the noses of Lord Malfoy's elegant Yorkshire Coach Horses. "We shall both try," I said.

* * *

...

My appointment with Mrs Marsh took place in her parlour on Friday, after I had finished my duties for the day.

"I am sorry to have delayed our meeting, Miss Granger," she said, as we sat down to tea at a little past five o'clock. "I had hoped to see you after your first day. But as is often the case in the operations of a large house, my intentions were superseded by circumstances beyond my control."

"I can very well imagine, ma'am" I replied. "I hope the maid has recovered from her injuries."

"Yes, yes, she is quite recuperated now. It appears she slipped on some stairs and struck her head in the fall. Thankfully, her folly afforded her nothing more injurious than a loss of memory of the incident. Clumsy girl."

We exchanged some general pleasantries as Mrs Marsh poured out the tea, then, once we were each provided for, she asked me, "But how are you, Miss Granger? I hope your first week among us was not unduly taxing?"

"No, I thank you," I replied. "It has gone quite well, I believe."

"I am glad. Lord Malfoy tells me that his daughter has taken an immediate liking to you."

I felt a flush of pleasure overspread my cheeks. "Oh—but—Miss Malfoy is such a sweet-natured girl," I said, flustered by this intimation. "I—I'm sure it would be difficult for anyone to disoblige her."

Mrs Marsh smiled in such a way that seemed to say, _'I would not be so sure of that.'_ However, she merely murmured, "Very true," and took a sip of her tea. "And how do you find her curriculum? Do you intend to make any changes?"

"Not at present," I said. "It is extensive, but not beyond her capabilities. She is very diligent for her age."

The housekeeper nodded. "She is certainly not a frivolous child."

"I...I wonder, Mrs Marsh," I said tentatively, "does not Miss Malfoy have any play-fellows her own age?"

"Rarely, I'm afraid," she replied. "Of the respectable families in the area, most of the children are already of magical age, and stay at school."

"Oh, I see. It seems a pity for a youngster to be so solitary." Then, venturing hesitantly, "Perhaps...perhaps a local girl might be found, selected from a decent, honest family of tenants—"

"Cotters' daughters are not fit company for a daughter of a Lord of the Realm, Miss Granger," Mrs Marsh replied with a sharpness not to be disputed. I bit my tongue, chiding myself for having provoked her indignation, although I could not agree with its cause.

"Yes, ma'am," I said humbly, "I take your meaning."

"Your concern for your charge does you credit, I'm sure," said the witch more gently. "However, allow me to assure you (as one who has known her since infancy) that Miss Malfoy has always been something of an "old-soul", as they say. She has never been one to gambol or frolic, the way other children do. She is somewhat...peculiar."

I nodded in deference, but made no reply. Privately, I thought, _'What child would not be peculiar, brought up in such cloistered and solitary privilege? Friendless, motherless, her father an intimidating Lord, her daily companions indifferent adults and servants?'_

Mrs Marsh evidently deemed the subject closed, for she turned directly to a new one. "Now, Miss Granger," she said, rising to stand, "There is someone I should like to acquaint you with, if you have the time to spare."

"Certainly, ma'am" I said, rising also, and following her out of the parlour and into the service corridor.

"The wizard I am taking you to meet is the head of the staff," she explained as we walked, "but his duties extend beyond those usually consigned to a Butler. The most significant of these is his role as Potion Maker, an art at which he is unrivalled. He keeps the spence stocked with a supply of ordinary potions, which all the household may use as needed. But if you require something more complex, or an ingredient that is rare or expensive, you will need to apply to him in person. His office is just ahead." She gestured to a closed door at the very end of the corridor.

As we neared, Miss Marsh murmured in a lowered-voice, "Perhaps I ought to caution you, Miss Granger, that he is not a courtly-mannered man, although he is a thoroughly respectable one. Indeed, he is a powerful wizard in his own right. Though not himself high-born, there is nobility in his ancestry, and he is highly esteemed by His Lordship. However, his disposition may seem somewhat...abrasive, to those who are not used to it. But it is only his bachelor's way."

I nodded, and murmured my thanks for her warning. Truly, I was beginning to wonder if I would meet _any_ person within these walls, who did not have some strange defect of temperament which needed excusing or forewarning.

Mrs Marsh tapped upon the door, and folded her hands in an aspect of patience, as if used to being obliged to wait. A full minute we thus stood, until I was rather inclined to think the Butler gone from his haunt. But at length a low drawl—a growl, I would even call it—emitted from therein.

"Enter... _if_ you must." In a mere four words the voice managed to somehow scathe and disdain, as if the speaker could in no way conceive any reason to endure an interruption.

I was certainly inclined to leave the man to his peace, however, Mrs Marsh opened the door and beckoned me to follow.

It was, I felt, like entering a dark cavern. The office was front-facing, and should have enjoyed a bright aspect through its large windows. But a pair of heavy, black velvet curtains were drawn to exclude any daylight, and the only source of illumination came from a dimly glowing lamp in one corner. Strange, ill-shaped shadows cast across the ceiling and floor, and there was an overwhelming odour of herbs and chemicals that made my stomach roil unpleasantly.

The wizard in question stood in the middle of the room, looking very much like an embodiment of one of the ill-shaped shadows, and certainly unlike any Butler I had ever seen or imagined before.

He was a tall, gaunt man, thin of face and sallow of complexion, with gleaming black beads for eyes, whose expression reminded me somehow of the malignant stare of a crow. This impression was not lessened by a high-bridged, beak-like nose, made even more prominent by the contrasting deep hollows of his cheeks. His hair, raven black and rather oily, was scraped severely back from his face to fall in stringy tendrils behind his shoulders. He wore a Butler's evening uniform comprising a black dress-coat and trousers with white waistcoat and tie, over which was thrown a set of open wizard's robes, further carrying the crow-like impression by resembling a pair of great, black wings.

At first glance I thought his face quite hideous, but presently I realised it was not due to any deformity of his features, but to his twisted arrangement of them—lips bitterly thinned and curled, eyes suspiciously squinting, brow puckered and glowering—which made him appear so unprepossessing.

"How do you do, Mr Snape?" asked the house-keeper briskly, returning his perfunctory nod of greeting. "I hope you don't mind my intrusion."

The man said nothing, but his expression perfectly conveyed the fact that he not only minded it, but utterly resented it.

Mrs Marsh continued, undaunted. "This is Miss Malfoy's new governess, Miss Granger," she said. "Miss Granger, allow me to introduce you to our Butler, Mr Snape."

I curtseyed. "I am very glad to make your acquaintance, sir," I said, rather untruthfully, I fear.

The man bowed, but with such graceless rigidity of posture, and such a scowling countenance, that I could no more take it as a mark of respect than I could Master Draco's insolently mocking obeisance.

"Mr Snape," the housekeeper said, "I wondered if you would be so good as to register Miss Granger for the potion spence? And instruct her on the relevant rules and protocols of its use."

The black-eyed wizard gritted his teeth and looked like he would rather hang. But eventually he ground out some muttered word of reluctant assent.

"I'm much obliged to you, sir. Good day." The gentle-witch turned back to the door, and I was dismayed to discover that she was intending to take her leave.

"Are you going, ma'am?" I blurted in consternation, wishing fervently not to be left in such obviously hostile company.

"I'm afraid I must, Miss Granger," said she, "I have other duties to attend to at present. You know where you might find me, should you need anything."

She curtseyed, and I was forced to do likewise, regretfully watching her disappear into the service corridor. Turning back to Mr Snape, I discovered that his expression had not improved with the departure of the housekeeper. Indeed, the man looked positively fiendish.

I suppose I appeared rather foolishly fearful, for at length a grim smile overspread his harsh features. "You look pale, young lady," said he, in a voice which, despite its sibilant softness, seemed to drip with acridness. "I _trust_ you are not given to fainting fits, and other symptoms of excessive female hysteria?"

"No, sir," I answered, thinking it rich of him to disparage _my_ complexion, when _his_ was as pallid as wax. "Not that I am aware of."

"I certainly _hope_ not," he said, as if inclined to doubt me. "For I have little patience for such _absurd_ displays of mental feebleness."

As my dislike of the man increased, my trepidation abated, and I found myself provoked into retorting. "And you, sir?"

The wizard's eyes narrowed almost to black slits. "'And I'— _what?_ "

"Forgive me, sir," I said, with a concerned appearance, "but I notice you are not very florid, yourself. You aren't sickening, I hope?"

Perhaps he had never been spoken to thus, for he stared down at me with a kind of incredulous amazement. Then, with an unutterably baleful scowl, he strode past me to the door, bidding me to either follow him, or go to the d—, as I pleased.

I was forced to hurry after him to keep up with his long strides, and consequently nearly collided with his back as he came to an abrupt stop outside a door, half-way along the corridor.

Half turning to me, Mr Snape growled, "Open this door, Miss Granger."

There was no handle to turn, so I extracted my wand from my pocket and cast an _Alohomora_ —to no avail. "It appears to be magically locked, sir," I said.

"An astonishingly accurate observation," he muttered snidely. He then extended his left hand out to me, unfurling his long, skeletal fingers. "Your wand, _if_ you please," he snapped.

I did not much relish the thought of surrendering my wand into the clutches of that clammy bone-white hand. I hesitated for just a moment, but it was enough for the irascible man to exhale impatiently, and snatch the wooden baton from my grip. I gasped with anger, but before I could so much as exclaim upon his rudeness, the wizard began to draw a complex symbol upon the door, which momentarily glowed, then disappeared.

He thrust the wand back at me, with full as much incivility as he had taken it. " _Now_ , Miss Granger," he said, "you may open this door."

I cast the _Alohomora_ again, and this time the door swung silently open, to reveal a narrow store-room. The room was fitted on all sides with shelves, and was stocked to the brim with vials and bottles of ready-brewed potions, and jars of prepared ingredients. Most of these I recognised as commonly-used in medicinal remedies, and for promoting all aspects of healthfulness in the humors and tempers of mind and body. I could not help admiring the handiwork I beheld: representing hundreds, perhaps even thousand of hours of harvesting, preparing and brewing; all labelled and arranged on the shelves in meticulous order.

"Miss Granger," I was snarlingly addressed as I perused the contents, "as a member of this household you have the right to use the contents of this chamber as and when you require them. _However_ , I warn you now, that any abuse of that right, or infraction of the rules, will lead to immediate dismissal."

"What are those rules, sir?" I asked.

"If you would hold your tongue for but a moment, I will tell you."

I flushed at this piece of exceptional rudeness, but deigned not to reply. I felt sure the less I verbally engaged with such a splenetic man, the quicker this appointment would come to a welcome conclusion. I fixed my eyes to the hem of my dress and waited for him to proceed.

The Butler paused for some long moments (as if to test whether I really would hold my tongue), then at last began a kind of droning harangue: "You may take only what is required to meet a single and specific need. You will not alter a potion without first gaining my permission. You will not deplete from this collection to furnish your own. And you will _certainly not_ barter, sell, lend, or otherwise bestow to any other party, any item from within these four walls." He scowled down his long nose at me. "Depend upon it, Miss Granger, if I so much as _suspect_ a transgressions of these rules, I shall undertake to investigate the matter personally." One dark eyebrow lifted menacingly. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He indicated a particular row of shelving. "I imagine this section may afford you some benefit." I stepped closer, peering at the silver plaque fixed to the wooden ledge. ' _Female Distempers & Defects'_, it read. The bottles bore such labels as, _"To Dis-Courage A Brazen Spirit", "To Encalm A Fretful Disposition"_ , _"To Fortify A Vapourish Mind"_ and, _"To Curb A Shrewish Tongue"._

Spiteful man! It was, I thought, a great pity that he did not concoct himself a potion, _"To Correct A Curdled Temperament"._ However, I kept my composure, the better to disappoint his designs to ruffle it. With a great pretence of earnestness, I examined each vial individually, now determined to prolong our conference, certain that the misanthrope would be as thin on patience as he was on politeness. (I ought to have been beneath such petty retaliation, but it seemed his rancour was contagious.)

At last I withdrew from the spence, politely thanking Mr Snape for such an ungrudging forfeiture of his time.

Grinding his teeth and obviously grudging me every moment, the butler waved a wand-less spell at the door, causing it to slam shut. "I have only to add," snapped he, "that should you require something not included in these supplies, you will petition me directly. Approval or denial will be at my discretion. But be sure not to bother me with idle requests, Miss Granger. I warn you, I do not take _kindly_ to such."

"Idle requests, sir?"

His lip curled disdainfully. "Love potions, allurement philtres, beautifying tinctures...the usual fripperies and artifices so popular among the _weaker_ sex."

"I shall avoid trespassing upon your generosity, sir," I murmured, my eyes surely expressing my doubt that he had any generosity to trespass upon.

The ill-favoured wizard bestowed upon me a parting glower of dislike, before abruptly turning his back (without so much as a nod of courtesy) and striding away, his black cloak billowing behind him.

Only when he had disappeared into his lair, did I let out a huff of resentment. What a black-biled wretch! A woman-hater too, going by his litany of disparaging commentary. I would certainly add him alongside Master Draco to my list of persons to actively avoid.

...I wondered just how much longer that list might grow, the longer I stayed.

* * *

...

The grandfather clock in the Main Hall showed nearly a quarter to six as I hurried past it, on my way back upstairs.

I was so exasperated by the irascible behaviour of Mr Snape, and so determined not to be late in bidding Clarastella goodnight, that I ascended the enormous staircase with rather more haste than decorum, my wand still clutched in my hand.

As I gained the _mezzanine_ , I was dismayed to see Master Draco emerging at the top of the left branch of stairs. He seemed in very good-humour, dressed in high style for an evening outing, and humming a lively tune. His usually-pale face was a little flushed and his eyes sparkled with unnatural brightness; it was apparent he had taken some stimulating concoction.

The young man had not seen me, for his eyes were bent upon the silk top-hat he held with one gloved hand and brushed the rim with the other. I just had time to duck behind a tall plant and quickly cast an _Unobtrusive_ charm upon myself (for I had not yet learned the _Disillusionment_ spell) in the hopes I might not be subjected to the ill-manners of two wizards within the same hour.

However, as Master Draco traversed the _mezzanine_ , his eyes suddenly lifted from his hat and connected with mine, and a malicious smile overspread his pointed features.

"Why, if it isn't Miss Mousie, hiding in the corner," said he, pausing to thoroughly quiz my appearance, as was his wont.

So dismayed was I that my spell had failed, I could only stammer out some poor excuse about inspecting the plant I was huddled behind.

At this, Master Draco tauntingly smiled. "Aye, madam, it is a fascinating specimen," he replied. "If you stay there until midnight who knows but it may turn into a suitor." With a self-delighted chuckle he mockingly bowed and turned to descend the main flight of stairs, resuming his tuneful hum, but this time in the distinct notes of the "Witches' Wedding March."

Chagrined and mortified, I frowningly inspected my wand, wondering if Mr Snape had caused it some impairment when he had used it to register me to the potion spence. I attempted the spell again, this time noticing that the magic which ought to emit in a clear, white spark, instead fizzled and dissipated as it left my wand.

"I'm afraid it won't work, Miss Granger."

I started at the voice, carrying down from somewhere above me. Looking up, I was further confused to behold Lord Malfoy, gazing upon me from behind the bannister of the first floor landing, his arms elegantly crossed at the wrists. Though it had been only a little over two days since last I had seen him, I was struck anew by his imposing stature and noble mien, so becoming of such gracious surroundings, and perhaps as forcefully reminded of my own discordant obscurity.

"Any form of concealment magic is prevented by the wards, both inside and out." He shrugged in his urbane manner. "As you might imagine in a house such as this, such a precaution has obviated much mischief and skulduggery over the preceding centuries. Only the incumbent master is exempt."

"Oh, I see," I mumbled, awkwardly leaving my nook. I pocketed my wand in a fumbling fashion and began to ascend from the _mezzanine_ to the first floor, wretchedly musing that I must appear quite a ludicrous little fool before the sophisticated master of the house.

I kept my eyes firmly fixed ahead of me as I climbed the stairs. Truly, I hoped His Lordship would suffer me to simply go my way, for I was sorely vexed by my previous two interviews, and not much inclined for another. But as I gained the landing, the noble-wizard had already moved to meet me there.

"I own, I did not recognise that particular spell, Miss Granger," he said. "What was it, pray?"

My face, already unnaturally warm, burned hotly to my hairline. "It was only—only a—a servant's spell, My Lord," I stammeringly admitted.

"A servant's spell? To make one invisible?"

"No, Sir, only t-to make one less noticeable. It is called the _'Unobtrusive'_ charm. Your Lordship would have no reason to know it."

"Ah. I suppose not." He smiled wryly. "The nobility, as a rule, prefer to be as obtrusive as possible. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I have met so few, I could not presume to generalise, Sir."

"Another of your admirable deflections, Miss Granger... But I notice you look somewhat harassed; has my son's impudence disturbed you?"

"No, My Lord; I am only a little tired, and running behind-hand."

"Behind-hand for what, if one may enquire?"

Not wishing to give my excuse, lest he dismiss it as trivial and prevent me from going, I merely said, "For an appointment, Sir." Then I made a hasty curtsey and tried to move past him. This, it seemed, would not do; his silver gaze fixed rather sharply on my face and he extended his arm to rest upon the topmost baluster, preventing my escape. "Sir—I am late—would you be so kind as to excuse me—"

"I must suppose, Miss Granger," said he, haughtily cutting in, "that you have some reason to avoid conversing with me. Or perhaps your dinner cannot wait?"

After so recently enduring Mr Snape's hostility and Master Draco's insolence, I greatly resented His Lordship's supercilious tone. "I am going to bid Miss Malfoy goodnight, My Lord," I said indignantly.

At this, the noble-wizard's posture relaxed and a flicker of his smile returned. "Oh, but if that is all—"

"—Yes, My Lord, that _is_ all," I said, quite vehemently, for I was determined not to be detained. "It may have escaped your notice, as apparently it has everyone else's, but the poor little girl has no-one to wish her a peaceful sleep." My voice and composure cracked at the same time, and a hot prickling started behind my eyes. "Please, My Lord," I entreated, "let me go to her now, or I shall be breaking my promise to her—do, _do_ let me go."

For a few lingering moments, Lord Malfoy's gaze rested thoughtfully upon my face. Then he removed his arm from the baluster, and made a formal bow. "I am sorry to have waylaid you from so noble an errand," he said, gesturing for me to go.

"Thank you, My Lord," I said, feeling instantly abashed by my fervency. I curtseyed, keeping my gaze bent downwards, not wishing to discover whether his expression was mocking or sincere.

As I turned and hastened along the balcony, I had the strangest sensation of tingling heat upon my neck, as if Lord Malfoy's molten-silver gaze were following me along the way.

...

* * *

 _A/N Hehe, well, how do you like our new Butler? Hm? Hmm? Isn't he such an adorable fluffy little puppy? Soz for this chapter taking ages. I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know your thoughts :D xox artful_


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